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bajisbabe · 2 years ago

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[a/n]: this post has been giving me so much trouble, it’s not even funny. winter fic exchange with @. so here it is, unformatted. :)

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

By clicking the “read more” or “keep reading” button, you are implying that you are at least 18 years old, if not older, and consent to reading the content featured in this post.

WARNINGS: Fluff, domestic life, plot(?) + smut, established relationship, oral (fem receiving), polite boy!Izuku, aged up!/number 1 pro hero!Izuku, reader can cook, reader and Izuku live together, tiny bit of angst, Izuku calls reader “baby,” reader referred to as beautiful once, slight bondage (?) using Black Whip, izuku uses quirk during sex kinda. P in V sex, unprotected.

Word Count: 4.2k

Synopsis: Izuku is busy, but never too busy to remind you that he loves you.

~★~

You sat up abruptly, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Glaring into the darkness from your extremely comfortable spot on your shared bed, you muttered out, “Izuku? Is that you?”

It couldn’t have been any later than 5 in the morning. The last lingering bits of dusk before dawn. You couldn’t see much other than his silhouette, and the outline of his hero costume. How his shoulders floated up and down with every ragged breath.

Your lips pursed, brows drawing together. “Are you okay?”

You could make out his faint nod. He sluggishly stripped himself of his clothes, heavy fabric falling to the ground with a thud. He stumbled forward and out of the pile of his clothing, kicking off his signature red boots. He lingered at the edge of the bed for a moment, seemingly watching you. You didn’t quite catch the adoring smile of his, merely complaining up a storm as his heavy body collapsed on top of you.

You made it a point to remind him that muscle weighs a ton and that he had a lot of it. He mumbled a quiet “goodnight, baby” and fell asleep almost immediately. The only thing separating you from his bare skin was the dark green briefs you bought him impulsively on your last trip to the store.

—

Izuku came home late the next night, being just awake enough to eat the leftovers you had in the fridge for dinner. Since you had yet to go to bed, you joined him in the dining room and watched him eat. He scarfed it down, gulping mouthfuls of water in between big bites.

He told you to tell him about your day and listened eagerly when you did, nodding and replying when appropriate. You tried to ask him about his, only to realize that he had finished his plate and had started to drift off while sitting up.

You shook your head and chuckled some before standing and patting him on the back, eagering him up and out of his seat and to the bathroom. You helped him out of his clothes, and he helped you out of yours. The two of you bathed together. At one point, you sat behind him on the edge of the tub, washing his back and trying to ignore the large amount of soot on his right shoulder—he had some kind of run-in with fire. Not to mention a new scar you had never seen before appeared on his left side.

You rinsed his skin and moved on to his hair, lathering up shampoo in those soft, green curls of his. He sang your praise, telling you that your hands felt so good in his hair.

Because of that combined with his sinking, heavy eyelids, you found it in you to bite your tongue and say nothing. Rather opting to guide him to bed so that you both could sleep.

But you didn’t sleep much that night, insisting on turning to face him even though he much preferred spooning you. It wasn’t like he could put up a fight, he practically fell asleep the second you wiggled out of his arms, his thick fingers still reaching out for you even in his stupor. You watched his face for hours, noting the little flickers of his lashes, the crease in his brow, the blooming color in his cheeks, the quiet breathing from his open lips.

Your hand came up once or twice to brush away any stray hair that had fallen onto his forehead. You had known Izuku long enough to know that he got rather hot when he slept, sometimes even sweating, but he never complained when the both of you cuddled up under the heavy comforter. Never did he move away, or try for a new position once you got comfortable. Not even once.

For some reason, the thought makes you sad. You think of how selfless Izuku is, how kind he is, how he always puts others before himself. How he ultimately always puts himself in danger because of it.

And the thought makes you want to cry.

—

“Izuku,” you say, rushing to the front door to stop him in his path. He immediately halts, eyes flickering in your direction, brows raising. “Can we talk?”

He opens his mouth as if to tell you that he has somewhere to be—which he does. You know this because he always goes to work around the same time everyday. 8 AM, on the dot. Sometimes as early as 6 or 7, sometimes long before you even get up. But he shuts his mouth, nodding and holding out his hand for you to take. You do, allowing him to guide you to the couch.

You sit right next to him, only allowing a small space so that you can both turn to each other. You take a moment to steel yourself, knowing that what you’re about to ask of him is beyond selfish, and knowing that this might be the first time he’ll ever tell you no.

You stay quiet for a beat too long, relishing in the caress of his thumb across the back of your hand. A soothing technique he’s developed solely for you over the course of the last couple of years. “Are you alright?”

You get the urge to cry again, but you don’t. Your head drops so that you can stare at your lap, now unable to make eye contact.

“Baby,” he asks, a hint of panic in his voice. “Baby, what’s wrong?” His hands come up to cup your face, calloused palms feeling warm against your skin.

“Nothing,” you lie, biting your lip.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” He murmurs, eyes flickering from yours to your lips. “I’ll listen.”

“I know.” You sigh, pulling at his wrists and turning your head to break the touch. You look back for a second, only to find a rather heartbroken expression on his face.

“What?” He asks quietly. “What’s wrong?”

You take a breath, suddenly feeling trapped. You need to say it. You need to say something. He should be on his way to patrol right now, and here you are, taking up his precious time. You should hurry up and say what you have to say so that he can go.

But I don’t want him to go. You think.

“Izuku,” you say.

He meets your eyes, brows furrowing at the emotion he can’t quite decipher in them.

“Izuku, I want you to quit being a hero.”

—

After saying such a thing, you seemingly snapped out of your trance and immediately took back your words. Izuku tried to ask you what you meant, and begged you to just talk to him. But you stood up and walked to the front door, knowing that he’d follow you—like he always does.

You told him to have a good day at work, and shrugged him away when he attempted to grab your arms. Scurrying off to your shared bedroom, you closed and locked the door behind you. You heard the knob turn some, then a small knock at the door. Izuku called your name, “Open the door.”

You didn’t, telling him again to have a good day at work. A lingering silence followed.

“Please.” He said. “Can you please open the door?”

You faltered for a moment, fingers aching to turn the knob and let him in. But still, you didn’t.

Izuku hesitated to leave, but ultimately had no other choice when he received a call from one of his colleagues, telling him to “get his shitty ass down here.”

—

Izuku came home early that night, far too early, in fact. Early enough for your dinner to still be hot—which hasn’t happened in months. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, watching Izuku sitting before you.

He ate slowly, complementing your cooking. Only taking a couple swigs of his drink every now and then. He seemed so unlike himself from a night ago. Making small talk, which you responded to in small phrases or single words.

He finished his dinner, wiping his mouth with a napkin. You met eyes. “This morning”—you cringed—“when you told me that you wanted me to quit, you meant it, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t speak, your tongue feeling like lead in your mouth. So you mustered up enough strength to nod. It’s not so much that you wanted him to quit as you know that being a hero was his biggest dream growing up—you could never deny him that. But it’s more so that you want him to be safe. You can’t say that though as it seems your mouth refuses to open.

“I knew it.” He doesn’t say it bitterly, or even matter-of-factly. It’s soft, breathy. He stays quiet for a beat. “Do you miss me?”

You frown. “It’s more than that, Izuku.”

“I know.” He says. “I’m not really home for dinner, not here when you shower, or go to bed. Not here when you wake up or go to work. Not really here in general—”

“It’s not that.” You say, frown deepening.

“Then what is it?” You hate how he speaks to you. Not stiffly or angrily. It’s all too kind, too understanding. Too compassionate and empathetic.

“It’s—” you meet his eyes again, breath taken away by how sincere of a look he’s giving you. You can’t help but be honest then. “I’m scared.”

“Scared?” He asks, brows furrowing. “Of what? Or… who?” He scratches his cheek, trying to think of what he couldn’t protect you from—which is practically nothing, considering he’s the number 1 pro hero. Not to mention, you yourself were pretty well-versed in combat. To this day, you could probably toss Izuku on his ass if he wasn’t careful. He couldn’t think of anything that would scare you.

“Nothing.” You say. “No one. I’m scared… I’m scared of—” why can’t you bring yourself to say it?

He doesn’t say anything, allowing you to gather your thoughts and conjure up something to say.

“I’m scared of you—”

“Of me?”

“No!” You whine. “I’m scared of you getting hurt, alright?”

“Oh,” he murmurs. He mulls over your words for a moment. He isn’t quite sure what to say. “Well… I haven’t gotten hurt yet.”

“First of all, that’s a lie.” You sigh heavily, wanting to point out the new scar he was sporting the other day, but you choose not to. “And second—Izuku, that’s not the point.”

“I know,” he repeats quietly.

“You’re not invincible.”

“I know—”

“If you say ‘I know’ one more time—”

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, clutching your fork rather tightly. You can do nothing but sit and stare. You don’t know what to say. Your grip tightens to the point that it begins to hurt.

Izuku looks over at your hand, stands, and gently pries the utensil out of your fingers. He smooths his thumb over your reddening palm. Using both hands, he pushes and pulls the skin as though it’ll make the indent stretch and disappear. Bringing your hand to his mouth, he kisses your palm gently. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Really, I am.”

One kiss turns into two, then two into three. He gradually moves his lips down to kiss your wrist and brings your hand to cup his face. He nuzzles his cheek into your palm and sighs contentedly.

“I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

—

“You miss me?” Izuku says, tossing his bag down onto the floor. He kicks off his boots unceremoniously and quickly climbs into bed with you, still clad in his jacket and sweats. His cheeks are a bit rosy from the chill outside.

You roll your eyes and continue to read your book as he wraps his arms around your waist, his cheek resting near your belly.

He looks up at you, eyes gleaming with love. “Baby,” it’s whiny and teasing. “Look at me.”

You glance at him over the top of your book, seemingly unamused. Using his pointer finger, he pushes the book down gently to reveal your face to him. Smiling stupidly, he takes your chin and pulls you down some until your lips meet.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever.” He says.

You set your book down with a huff. “I’m not mad!”

“Are so,” he says, turning over to lay his head flat. “You do that foot tapping thing when you’re mad.”

“I’m not”—you look down to see that your right foot is in fact tapping subtly against the sheet. “That doesn’t mean I’m mad.” You say heatedly.

“Whatever you say, baby.” He glances your way, lips tugging up at the sight of your frown. You’re adorable.

He lets the silence eat away at you, knowing you’ll fess up if he just lets you simmer for a bit. “You came home early!”

“What?” He says, sitting up so that he can see you face-to-face. His left eyebrow raises. “You’re mad because I came home early?”

“No!” You say, taking a moment to watch your tone as you realize how mean you sound. “No. It’s just”—you sigh, closing your eyes. “If you had told me you were going to be home, I could’ve…”

“Could’ve what?” now you’ve really got his attention.

“Could’ve… I don’t know”—you sigh again, feeling frustrated. Every time you see him, it’s like your tongue begins to twist—“I could’ve done something for you. Like, made you lunch or something. Or we could’ve gone out. I don’t know.”

“Awh, baby.” He coos, that insistent smile returns. He grabs your arms, rubbing his large hands up and down them in a comforting manner. “It’s not too late, we still have time.”

“No,” you say sullenly. “It should have been a surprise.”

“Why?” He asks dumbly. Sometimes he really doesn’t understand you. Hardly ever, but when he doesn’t, he really doesn’t.

“I don’t know,” you repeat, shrugging your shoulders. “I guess I wanted to make you feel special.”

He pauses, his cheeks reddening. He dips his head so that you don’t catch the blush blooming on his face. “It’s alright, I don’t need a surprise to feel special, baby.” His hands speed up, a nervous impulse that gives away his sudden shyness.

You turn to look at him, head tilting as you find that he has ducked his head. You can’t quite see his face. “Izuku?” You ask. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” He says a bit too quickly.

You hum in question, peering closer. “Are you blushing?”

“What?” He sputters. “No!”

“You are!” You say, excitedly. “Oh my god!”

“No,” he groans, cupping his own face in an attempt to cover it up.

He lets you laugh and tease all you want, fighting back another smile until you finally sober up. “Izuku,” you say, drawing his attention.

His eyes shine innocently. “Yeah?”

“What can I do for you?” You ask. “To make you feel special, I mean.”

He ponders on it for a bit, but not long. “Nothing.” He pauses for another beat before saying, “I already feel special when I’m with you. There’s nothing I want you to do for me.”

Although your heart swoons at his words, you can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Was there really nothing you could do for him?

“You sure?” You are looking in his eyes when you notice them darken subtly. Had you not been looking, you wouldn’t have caught it.

“Well,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to the sheets. “Could you let me—wou—would you let me… Never mind.”

“What? No!” You scoot closer to him, grabbing his hands and pulling them to you. “Tell me, tell me!”

“Well, uh,” he looks up at the ceiling, suddenly unable to make eye contact. “Well, uhm, would you let me… Would you, maybe…”

“Izuku,” you drop his hand to place your left hand on his shoulder, your right hand still holding one of his. “You can say anything, seriously.”

“Okay,” he sighs, looking unsure. “Uhm, what I’m trying to say is… Could I maybe eatyouout?”

You blink. “What?”

“Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

Because Izuku is always so busy on patrol, it’s been a minute since he’s given oral. You still get intimate every now and then, but you hardly have time for foreplay. You never ask because you know he’s busy and feel that it’s selfish of you to do so.

Little do you know, he’s been craving it but holding back because you haven’t asked for it.

“Oh,” you say. “Well, if that’s all”—you slip off your shorts.

“Oh.” He repeats, mouth agape. He didn’t think it would be this easy. He honestly thought you’d say no, or laugh his request off. He has to stop himself from looking as eager as he feels. “Okay.”

It takes him a second to act, to move. His large, calloused hands smoothing over your inner thighs and spreading your legs. He lets out a hushed curse at the sight in between. He looks up at you, then down, then up, and down again.

“May I?”

You bite your lip, words stuck in your throat as you nod. He doesn’t hesitate any longer, kissing at your clothed clit and licking through the fabric at your hole. He can only handle so much before he hooks his finger on the bridge of your panties and pulls it over to reveal you to him.

“Fuck.” He breathes, shuddering with excitement at the prospect of what’s to come. He sucks at your clit, drawing circles around it with your tongue. His hands cup under your knees, forcing your legs up higher as you tremble beneath him. He can’t help but think of how beautiful you are as he tugs your panties off and tosses them aside. They were only getting in his way.

His tongue delves into your hole, greedily drinking up all you have to offer until you’re begging for mercy. “Izuku, please!”

“I know,” he mumbles. “I know.” He presses a finger in, easing it back and forth as he kisses your clit. Then, a second, speeding up to a punishing pace.

Your fingers curled into his hair, gripping harshly, but you know it’s nothing that Izuku can’t take. He twists his fingers, curling them expertly in a way that has you gasping. Adding a third finger to ensure you’ll be stretched enough to take him. Adding a particularly pointed thrust of his fingers, he feels you tighten around them. Pulling away only to suck off your juices obscenely, tongue flicking between his pointer and middle fingers.

“You’re so wet,” his eyes are heavy-lidded, lips wet with your release. He’s staring down, seemingly infatuated with your pussy. “I missed this. I missed you, baby. So much.”

You feel your skin warm, embarrassment setting in. “Shut up.” You grumble, your tone holding no heat. He simply smiles at you, eyes glancing down at himself then back up to you with a more sheepish expression. You look down, finding that there’s an obvious tent in his sweats. One spot in particular seems damp with pre.

You don’t say anything, opening your legs just a bit wider to invite him in. He quickly shucks off his jacket, kicking off his pants, and pulling down his boxers. He eases his way through your legs, his hips bumping your knees and thighs out of the way as he closes in on you. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He says quietly, breathily.

You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder as he leans closer, curving in over you. He presses his throbbing tip to your hole. He slides his tip from your clit to your hole once, twice, making you ache with need. He’s big, moreso in width than in length. But his length is certainly nothing to ignore either. You catch sight of a neat patch of curly green hair—it’s all sticky with pre, looks like he might have come while eating you out—and a smattering of freckles that you can just barely make out right above his pelvis.

“Fuuuck,” he whines, teasing you both as he presses the tip in, then backs out, and presses in again. The stretch of it alone has you squirming. “Think you can handle me?”

It’s one of the very few times Izuku’s teasing sounds a bit too mean. His eyes are dark and his smile seems so smug all of a sudden. He’s only teasing, but you can’t take it. “Hurry, please!”

“Why,” he aligns himself with you. “We’ve got all night, baby.” Then, he thrusts in. He slides it all in in one go, leaving you writhing and panting. You feel him shudder against you, strong thighs pressed up against your ass. His eyes roll back, a hiss blowing through his teeth.

He doesn’t make you wait any longer, speeding up to a rhythmic pace, neither too slow nor too fast. You can hardly keep your eyes open, squeezing them shut in an attempt to drown out the immense pleasure you feel as the curve of his cock stretches you deliciously. He’s strong, every thrust jolting your body and taking your breath. Your toes curl as he hits the rough patch inside of you, hips grinding against you once he realizes.

“That feel good? You like that?”

You can only nod numbly, body tingling. Your hands grasp the sheets beneath you, back arching. His hands slide under your shirt, greedily groping at your breasts as he eases the fabric up and out of the way. He mouths at the skin, relishing in the moan you let out in response. He sucks the plump flesh, squeezing as he slows his thrusts. It’s agonizing.

He tongues at your neck, kissing and sucking, hands still on your breast. Thrusts slow, but still hard enough to shake the bed frame. You wonder how it withstands his power.

“You’re making me feel so special, baby.” He chokes out, voice muffled in the place where your shoulder and neck meet. “Sooo—fucking—special.” He accentuates every word with a thrust.

A hint of light catches your eye, a green and black swirling pattern spiraling over his forearms. Black Whip, you recall vaguely. Hardly able to understand as your brain has turned to mush at the slow strokes of his cock. The whip latches on to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. It doesn’t hurt, only buzzes gently against your skin.

Izuku begins to gasp and sputter against you, lips kissing yours messy and wet. He looks at you with heavy lidded eyes, lips swollen and red from biting. His hair is even more of a mess than usual and his cheeks are blushing a pretty red. You can see the muscles in his lower abdomen contract, his thighs tensing. He looks so feral, but you aren’t afraid. Even with as much power as Izuku possesses, you know he’d never be a threat to you.

Your belly tightens at the thought, his pelvis rubbing pleasantly your clit when he thrusts in, hips grinding slowly. Your head thrums with pleasure, ears ringing a bit as he groans above you. The coil in your stomach snaps suddenly, your pussy spasming around him. “Oh,” he mumbles hazily, unable to stop himself from coming undone.

His cum fills you, thick and hot, cock pulsing. You throb with pleasure, fingers twisting the sheets until they nearly come up. Colors and shapes dancing behind your eyes, you sink further into the afterglow.

It takes a full minute for him to calm, Black Whip gradually disappearing into his skin as his hands gently release their hold on you. He eases out slowly, evermore careful when you groan at the loss of touch. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Might have overdone it.”

You sit up rather groggily, pushing up on your hands despite Izuku worrying over you and telling you to lay back down and rest. “Don’t be.” You smile at him softly, a hand coming up to cup his face.

His anxious expression melts away as he nuzzles into your palm, intertwining the fingers of your free hand with his. He allows a similar smile to grace his lips, “I’ll start coming home early from now on.” He says.

For a moment, you think he’s joking and laugh quietly. But there’s a certain look of determination in his eyes, one you don’t bother to combat as he explains how he’ll double his work effort in half an amount of hours on patrol so that he’ll have more time to spend with you, even if that means handing over the workload to Bakugo—who he already talked to this about, being sure to include the opinions of his task force too.

“I don’t think he’d mind,” Izuku says softly. “He’s always saying he could do it better.” You both laugh, smiling stupidly at each other. Izuku stands, saying that he’ll get you water and start a bath. You nod, unable to voice just how grateful you are for him. Just before he exits the room, he turns to you. “Oh, I almost forgot! I know you told me to be more careful and—and I am, so…” he stops short when he sees the look of utter adoration you’re giving him. He chuckles, feeling his face warm. “So you don’t have to worry about me, we’ve got a new buddy system and everything. I’ll make sure I come home to your every night. I’ll keep my promise, okay? So don’t worry.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, running off to fetch a new set of sheets for the bed. Even though he can’t hear you, you still speak.

“Okay.”

#izuku smut #izuku x reader smut #tw smut #smut tw #tw unprotected sex #it’s been so long .. i literally don’t know how to do this stuff anymore. how do I tag this :/#bnha smut #mha smut #izuku midoriya x reader smut #midoriya izuku smut #izuku midoriya smut

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mystic-writings · 1 year ago

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tangled up (in strings of emotion) | wilbur soot

PAIRING – wilbur soot x fem!streamer!reader, implied wilbur x shubble

REQUEST – anon - Hi! ok so, i had a very angsty idea. basically, we all know how wilbur had a crush on shubble? basically, my idea is that wilbur and streamer!reader have been dating for a while and the internet loves them (as they should) and reader and shubble are good friends like reader, shubble and niki are all like an iconic trio, but then wilbur starts to distance from reader and spend more time with shubble and you know who catches on first? james. and then jack figures it out, and tommy and niki and the band all have it figured out and niki (i love niki more than life itself) tells reader and the readers like “fuck you, it’s me or her william.” with prompt 9 from “angst prompt 2”?? i feel like that would be really really cool and your angst is absolutely *chefs kiss* :) if you don’t wanna do it that’s fine! just a thought, have a lovely day!!

PROMPT – 9. “don’t make me choose.”

SUMMARY – you finally find out why your relationship with wilbur is falling apart, even if you didn’t see the signs.

WARNINGS – angst, hurt/no comfort, tw cheating mentions

WORD COUNT – 2,720

NOTES – i listened to haunted by tswift the entire time i wrote this bc it matches so well tbh | first fic of 2024 & no surprise, it’s ANGST !!

masterlist | taglist form

How have you been so blissfully ignorant all this time?

These past few years of your life, the ones you once looked back upon as the best of your life thus far, were tainted with a dark stain.

You don’t know how you missed it. All the signs were there, but maybe you were just too happy to believe that something could’ve been wrong in the first place.

Being a streamer, and a successful one at that, was a blessing you never thought you’d have. It led you to all of your best friends, and to your boyfriend of nearly three years. Wilbur Soot, more commonly known now as Will Gold, who you met through your friends Niki and Shelby. It felt like it was fate, meeting him. You were at a point in life where things just felt sour all the time, and you barely had the energy to create content at the time. Then, around the beginning of January 2020, Niki asked if you wanted to make a video with her, Philza, and Wilbur, and from there things were history.

After starting dating over the internet for a while, and with the lockdowns coming and going frequently, you and Wilbur met for the first time in his tiny flat in London. It was amazing, spending that time together, just the two of you. Deciding to make things public and when was a tough decision, but you thought it would be safer to do so after you took the jump and moved to England. You’d never forget that conversation, sitting on your kitchen counter at 4am.

“And you’re sure you want to do that?” Wilbur asked. “I mean, moving here, moving across the country just so we can be together it’s- it’s-”

“A big step, Will. I know. But it’s been almost a year, you know. Restrictions are lifting soon. And I want to be with you. I want to be able to see Tommy and Phil and Niki and Jack easier. I want to be happy.” You told him. “I know I have Shelby here, and I love her with everything I have, but she’s the only thing here and it’s just not enough anymore. I need you.”

After a long, anxiety-inducing silence, Wilbur sighed. “I know. I need you too. I just want to make sure you’re making the right decision here, you know? I don’t want you to have gone through all that trouble just to get here and find you don’t like it, or something happens and you have to go back, anyway.”

You shook your head, even though your boyfriend couldn’t see you. “Nothing’s going to go wrong, Wilbur. I know what I want. And besides, there’s no place on Earth I wouldn’t live if it meant I could live with you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You should go to sleep. It’s almost 5 in the morning. You need rest.” Wilbur told you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“I know, I know. I’ll talk to you later, though. I promise.”

“Alright, darling. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Will.”

And it was after a long, unnecessarily stressful process with customs and gathering the right papers, that you finally moved in with Wilbur, who began renting an apartment in Brighton not long after the process began.

Over a several-week-long process, you met all of your best friends in person for the first time, and it was the best few weeks of your life. Niki especially was excited to meet you, and she was one of the first to do so.

Life for the next year or so was amazing to say the least. Yours and Wilbur’s respective careers were taking off, his in music and yours in streaming and on YouTube. Everything was coming out on top for the both of you, and for all of your friends.

Until now, you were the happiest you’ve felt in a very long time.

You and Wilbur had been travelling for his tour for a while now, both of you putting off streaming to travel with the rest of Lovejoy for their very first American tour. Christmas was closing in, and you were in California, visiting Shelby, Quackity, and a ton of other friends that you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Wilbur’s show was amazing, as per usual, and you and Shelby spent the whole night glued to one another. Will, like he normally did during the performances when you were in the crowd, kept tossing loving glances your way for most of the set. He even dragged Quackity on stage to cover a song with him. It was truly amazing.

The trip to see your friends, and the rest of the tour overall, was amazing. After it ended and you all went back to England, you noticed a shift in Wilbur’s behaviour. At first you assumed it was just work stress and post-tour burnout of sorts, but soon it became very apparent that it wasn’t directed at anyone but you.

You spent a lot of time around Wilbur and your friends, as group hangouts became very common since you were both gone for so long. They were normally hosted at Tommy’s flat or James’, sometimes Jack’s house or round yours. It was always fun, though, and that’s what mattered.

Streams became frequent again, both solo and with whoever was available at the time, planned or not. You even did a subathon for your birthday that lasted a week and a half. You invited everyone in the area to come over for cake, called those who were too far away and everything; it truly was a wonderful birthday.

Content creation was always unpredictable, and everyone’s lives were hectic, so you weren’t too surprised when Shelby stopped communicating with you as frequently over the next few months. The summer of 2023 seemed to be busy for everyone, including yourself.

You were helping Tommy with his tours and upcoming plans, and your own plans for the future had you being pulled every which way. Wilbur even bought a house for the two of you, despite the rift that was still forming between the two of you. He spent most nights in his office, playing video games or working on music.

Still, even with the distance between you, you never would’ve guessed that the others could see it, too.

It started with James giving you odd looks whenever you’d excuse Wilbur’s lack of presence at hangouts, even when they were at your house. Then Niki, who asked if you were okay on more than one occasion. Then Jack, who came to you about an editing problem and brought up how you hadn’t mentioned Wilbur in a little while, and whose mood seemed to sully when you shrugged and told him it was because he was very busy right now. Then one by one, it seemed everyone was catching onto it, and you nearly shouted at them to leave you alone, because it was your relationship and you didn’t see any problems.

Even if Wilbur barely slept in the same bed as you anymore. Even if he rarely ever touched or kissed you anymore.

Niki. Poor, unfortunate Niki, was the first to find out why. She never told you how, or who told her, but she was the only one who knew. She came to you with it on a beautiful Friday afternoon, a day where you both decided to not stream in favour of a nice, relaxing afternoon in your backyard, drinking coffee at a little table in your garden, full of flowers and flourishing at your hand and hard work.

She’d seemed off to you the entire time she was there, quietly sipping on her second cup of coffee and admiring the flowers.

“Are you okay, Niki?” You’d asked, eyeing her with concern.

Her eyes snapped to yours from the peonies beside her. “What? I’m fine, Y/n, don’t worry.”

“You sure?” You asked. “You seem… off. Like something’s bothering you. If you want to talk, we can, I mean, we’ve been friends for long enough that you can tell me anything you want. You know that, right?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot.” She stated, fiddling with her fingers. Her stature was small, eyes attempting to steer clear of your gaze and finding solace in her mug. “I just- I don’t know if you’ll like what I have to say, and I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my best friend.”

You smiled gently at the girl. “Don’t worry, Niki. If there’s something you need to tell me, I’m sure I can handle it. You can’t hurt me that badly.”

Your smile faltered when Niki’s weary eyes met yours. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I only found out last night, and I hate to be the one to tell you, especially because it’s not any of my business, I just felt that you needed to know, I-”

“Niki, calm down,” you reached out to place your hand atop hers, and she turned it over to grip it in return. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Wilbur.” She sighed, and your heart rate skyrocketed. “I know why he’s not acting himself around you.”

“Is he okay? I mean, he’s healthy right?” You asked. “Why wouldn’t he tell me this himself?”

“Because he didn’t want you to know.” She said, tears forming in her eyes. “He’s not sick or anything, Y/n. He’s… he’s in love with someone else.”

The world around you could’ve set fire and you wouldn’t have known. Niki’s words rang in your ears, and your heart plummeted from the place in your chest, as if Wilbur himself had dropped it from the safe place you put it; right into his hands.

“With who? Do I know her?”

Niki only nodded, sniffling and blinking away her tears while yours threatened to fall. After a long silence and a heavy sigh, she squeezed your hand again and opened her mouth, her next words coming out shakily. “It’s… Y/n, it’s Shelby.”

You pulled your hand from hers. “What?”

“They’ve been talking for months now. She told me last night and I haven’t spoken to her since then,” Niki swore. “She said she feels bad for doing this to you, especially because she rejected Wilbur for a long time and you’re best friends. I guess she couldn’t stop herself after a while. I don’t know. All she said was that Wilbur initiated it.”

“She still participated.” You said, words lined with tears. “Do you know how long he’s been… been pursuing her?” You nearly gagged on the words.

Niki nodded. “Since the LA performance in December.”

Somehow, your heart fell further than it did before.

Finding out was a blessing and a curse, really. Everything started to make sense once you truly thought it over. All those nights holed up in his office lately, the distance that formed after the tour ended. Those loving glances during the LA show. Somehow, you could tell now that they weren’t for you.

After you talked and cried more about it with Niki, she left to go tend to her cats in her apartment, and offered a place to stay if you needed it.

You spent hours on the couch, anxiously awaiting Wilbur’s return from the studio. Your stomach turned with the thought that he could be on the phone with Shelby right now, chatting and making her laugh and telling her how much he felt for her. You almost broke when you wondered if he’d ever told her he loved her.

Finally, well after sundown, the door creaked open and shut. In walked Wilbur, guitar case gripped in one hand, shoulders sagging from the weight of the day.

“Hello, love.” You said, barely looking at him, words cold as ice.

He tossed a quick glance at you. “Hi, darling. How was your day?”

“Good.” You said, watching him lean the guitar against the arm of the couch, lazily kissing your head as he did.

Somehow, after all these months of being emotionally distant, Wilbur could tell something was wrong. “You okay?” He asked as he headed to the kitchen on the opposite side of the house.

With a sigh, you stood up and clenched your fists. Might as well get it over with. “What’s going on with you lately, Will?”

His brows furrowed as he stopped in the doorway, turning to face you. “What d’you mean? I’m fine, darling.”

“No you’re not.” You said. “You’ve been distant, and for a while now. You’ve been borderline avoiding me. It’s like you’re not even in a relationship with me! Like you don’t want to be in a relationship with me anymore! Did you know our friends have noticed? Every time I show up to a gathering without you they ask what’s wrong. Where you are. And I have nothing to say because I didn’t think anything was wrong.”

Wilbur sighed, face scrunched with indignation. “That’s because nothing’s wrong. I’m just busy.”

“Really? What, busy talking to Shelby?”

Wilbur’s face fell, the colour going with it.

“Yeah, don’t act surprised, Will. I know.” You said, the emotion finally flowing back to you. “I know you’ve been seeing my best friend behind my back. I know you’ve been pursuing her for a year. Niki told me. She said you’ve been after Shelby, wearing her down, trying to get her to go behind everyone’s back. After all this time, after everything we’ve been through, and you cheat on me with her of all people? My best friend. The woman who helped introduce us and you didn’t think I’d find out at some point?”

“Look, it’s not what you think, I just-”

“Just what, Wilbur?” You asked, biting back a sob. “Just wanted to use me to get to her? I don’t even know why you asked me out in the first place. I knew you had a crush on her before we started dating.” You breathed a shaky sigh, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I guess I was just naive enough to think you’d gotten over it. Maybe you did, for a little while.”

“I swear, it’s nothing like that, Y/n. I love you, I do.” He pleaded. “Just let me explain everything, please.”

“I don’t want to hear it. I can’t believe you, Wilbur. You bought a house for us! I moved here for you! We were building a life together! And you tore it all down for her!” You screamed. The neighbours could probably hear you by now, but you didn’t care. You needed to let everything out. “I left my family behind, my life behind for you. That’s how much I love you. I guess you just don’t love me enough to do the same.”

“Y/n, don’t- I love you, too. We can fix this, I swear. I promise.”

“Fuck you.” You spat, catching Wilbur off guard. “You don’t love me. Not enough to cheat on me with one of my best friends. So fuck you, William. It’s me or her. You don’t get to have us both. I won’t put myself through that.”

Wilbur’s eyes filled with emotion, with indecision. “Don’t. Please, Y/n, don’t make me choose.”

You stepped closer to him, fury burning through you. “Fine, then I will. I don’t know what the hell you thought you could do when you got yourself into this, but you’re sure as hell not gonna keep dating me.”

Before Wilbur could speak, you were marching upstairs to your bedroom – the room you spent more time in than Wilbur did – texting Niki on your way to pack a bag. Your heart was crumbling to dust in your chest, and the emotion was finally replacing whatever temporary anger you felt, crashing through you like waves, putting out the fire within you.

Wilbur begged and pleaded as you packed your bag, but you didn’t listen. You just packed whatever was necessary, whatever you could think to bring for the night. You’d come back for the rest later.

15 minutes later, after a quiet Uber ride, you were sitting in Niki’s living room, crying and wondering what you were going to do next. Because you changed your life for Wilbur, and it was his reckless betrayal that tore it all down around you.

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staycalmandhugaclone · 5 months ago

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Fool's Errand Pt 5

Part (5) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Btw, @youreababboon - sorry! I'm certain you were on my taglist initially! I must have goofed at some point 😘

Warnings: fair bit of medical procedures in this one: blood, needles, big needle, body horror, brief mention of child prisoner

WC: 3,578

“Uh… She…” I barely had time to notice that he’d somehow found his helm, and that he was using Crosshair’s rifle as a crutch, all but confirming his brother still hadn’t woken else I was sure I’d be able to hear him shouting at Wrecker even through the roar of the fire. He’d just begun to speak when something in the cockpit blew. The flash briefly overloaded my HUD, blinding me even through the visor, and the shockwave that followed nearly knocked me and Tech to the ground.

“Later!” I dismissed sharply, starting forward once more. “Is there anyone else in here?!” He shook his head, already turning to follow me out of the ship, and, despite the threat of dread stiffening my throat, the horror at realizing how close I’d come to leaving the small girl to the mercy of the flames, I let out a short huff of relief.

“Echo, we’re ready for pickup.” I called out over my com.

“Copy.” There was a tension in his voice that reminded me about the still untreated shot he’d taken to his shoulder, and, for just a moment, I felt a temptation to falter beneath the overwhelming work still to come. They all needed help… and we were so far behind enemy lines that there was no backup; no nearby flagship we could run to for supplies or safety. There was just me…

“Tech, I’m going to sit you down beside Crosshair, okay?” I said, voice nearing something of a gentle whisper as I noted how quickly he was breathing, how much he was clearly struggling to stay upright. He gave a weak nod, and I carefully helped him the rest of the short distance to that ditch and eased him down before turning to Wrecker.

“Alright, give her to me and sit down before Cross sees what you’re doing to his rifle – I don’t need any more work patching you guys up.” A barely muffled chuckle escaped him as he leaned down to pass the young girl to me, but he still used the Firepuncher to limp the rest of the way to his brothers before collapsing to the freshly upturned earth.

She couldn’t have been older than six. Tawny brown hair dangled to her shoulders in twin pigtails decorated with soot-covered jewels and metalwork. Dark shorts revealed skinned knees and small but vibrant patches of burned skin dotting her legs. It was the thin bead of blood slowly outlining the subtle curve of her brow that worried me, however.

Words automatically left me in a gentle, reassuring murmur as I began an initial assessment; telling her my name and title, reassuring her that I was there to help, and voicing my every action before I did it. It didn’t matter that she appeared unconscious. I was a stranger, and I didn’t want her to be afraid.

As the scanner hummed softly, I glanced up to see the rapidly approaching transport, a wave of ineffective, crimson bolts following in its wake from the battalion below. A quiet chime drew my attention back to the screen, pleased to see nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own. Still, I knew her burns would be painful, and we had enough bacta on the Marauder to spare.

There was a moment as we waited, maybe as little as a handful of seconds, in which I found my gaze turning back to the ruined shuttle behind us, and I didn’t fight the memory of that sloppily painted loth cat on the tail. I remembered her laugh just before the alarms blared. I remembered the feeling of her hand in mine. And I felt the desperate need to venture once more into those flames; to fight my way back to the engulfed cockpit that I might find her; that I might whisper her name if only to say goodbye.

But then the scream of engines wrenched my attention back to the present, and I granted myself no further time to waste on fables as I gathered the girl into my arms.

As soon as the transport touched down, I could hear rapid footsteps echoing within. Echo was waiting before the doors had begun to open, chest jerking around quick breaths, and I couldn’t ignore the subtle gleam of moisture darkening the fabric about his shoulder. Still, a small huff of laughter escaped me at the obvious confusion in his stance as he noted the small form in my arms.

“Who’s”

“You’ll have to talk to Wrecker.” I interrupted with a tiny chuckle, “How’s Hunter?”

“No change.” He answered, voice heavy. I didn’t press as I tread passed him. The faster everyone was loaded, the faster I could check him over myself.

By the time I’d secured the girl into a crash seat, Echo was already helping Wrecker into the ship, and I winced at the barely audible grunt that occasionally caught between ground teeth as the massive clone hobbled unsteadily beside his brother. I wanted to offer my help, to lessen the strain on his injured leg, but every second brought the droid army closer, so I darted back into the cool night air.

“Tech, you still with me?” I asked, words rushed as I kneeled down next to him. He only managed a weak grunt in response at first, eyes reluctantly opening behind soot-smeared, topaz lenses. “Hey, honey – Echo’s here.” I explained softly even as I carefully slid my arm beneath his shoulders to begin easing him up. “Can you walk?” He frowned as he looked around us, lips pulled into a weak scowl from some wretched cocktail of confusion and pain.

“… I…” I could see him struggling to remember, to formulate an accurate response, and that was all the answer I needed.

“It’s alright. I’ll help you, okay?” I murmured, body bracing against his before slowly hauling him upright. A strained groan only just caught on his tense exhale, but it was enough to force me to pause, debating if I needed to carry him outright. He took the first step, however, so I tread with him, arm locked around his waist to offer what support I could.

“I'll get Cross.” I said as Echo started back down the ramp, adding, “I don't want you straining that shoulder anymore,” when his helm tilted in confusion. I didn’t need to see him to picture the subtle, unamused frown as his head sank down ever so slightly. “He’s the lightest one between the lot of you – just make sure Tech doesn’t bleed out before I get back.” I added dismissively with a scoff, words just touched by the hint of a smirk on my lips, still, he let out a short huff before turning inside.

It wasn’t until after hoisting his lithe form over my shoulder that Crosshair finally began to stir.

“… the kriff…?” He muttered groggily, body tentatively moving in weak, unsteady twitches.

“About time you woke up.” I teased warmly, carefully hiding the breathiness from my voice as we entered the ship. The weary confusion with which he called my name left my heart dancing violently in my chest. “Don’t worry,” I whispered, “everyone’s here. Just need to get you strapped in, and then we’re leaving.” His head shifted slightly for a moment as though he was trying to look around before pausing, attention briefly locking on the still form of the child, but then he seemed to abandon even that minuscule effort as he went limp once more.

Echo had another wad of gauze pressed against Tech’s arm, attention flitting between his brother and the cockpit, as I reentered. Wrecker’s gaze flicked only briefly to me before darting back to the young girl, jaw taut with a worry he made no effort to hide, and Hunter hadn’t moved, body leaning faintly into the harness while his chest jerked with quick, shallow breaths.

“How long before we’re in firing range?” I asked, mind racing to remember how long we had before reaching the Marauder, to triage the injuries of those around me, and to prepare myself for the weight of juggling them all at once.

“Not long.” Echo replied, glancing at me for just a moment as I eased his brother into a nearby couch before he leaned over to press his scomp to Crosshair’s chest. I said a quick “thanks” as I secured his harness, jaw aching from how firmly my teeth ground together as my gaze wandered toward Hunter.

“I’ve got him.” I murmured, reaching over to clasp my hand around Tech’s arm. “If you can find a spot to land for a few minutes, let me know; otherwise just… hurry.” As I said it, words lowered into a tense whisper, I nodded subtly toward the Sargent. Echo nodded, offering no further recourse before pushing himself up to all but sprint toward the cockpit. Within seconds, the ship lurched to life, leaping sharply from the ground before rocketing away from the black site below, again making me snatch at a harness to steady myself.

Releasing a short breath, I turned my attention to the man before me. Tech’s skin was pale. His head hung listless toward his chest, sweat dripping down his forehead, along the sharp curve of his cheeks, and soaking into the already damp fabric clinging to his form, and the rapid dance of his chest beneath too-quick breaths left me subconsciously tightening my grip on the still bleeding wound.

“Tech? Tech, come on, I want you to stay awake – stay with me.” I instructed, voice rising slightly in hopes of catching his attention even as I quickly jostled myself out of my medbag’s uncomfortable straps. He didn’t respond, instantly drawing a curse from my lips.

“Anythin’ I can help with?” Wrecker asked, an odd meekness to his words, and I instantly felt some of my tension fall away at the innate gentleness of him.

“No,” I said softly, glancing back toward him with a smile I knew he couldn’t see. “I just hate seeing you guys get hurt… but he’ll be okay.” I added warmly. “Let me know if those pain meds start to wear off, okay?” He nodded, and I turned my attention back to the injured pilot, carefully pulling away the gauze just enough to study the already subsiding blood flow. It was steady. Not an arterial bleed, at least, but I needed to repair any ruptured major vessels before I could remove the tourniquet, and that wasn’t something I could do during flight. Securing the additional gauze with more bandages, I moved to his other arm and quickly stripped it of armor before cutting through the fabric at his elbow to reveal the thin skin below.

“What you can do,” I started, calling back to Wrecker once more as I began prepping an IV, “is explain why we went down there for a Senator and came back with a child.” He let out a quiet chuckle, the deep, familiar sound an effortless balm to my worries.

“Not sure.” He answered far too nonchalantly for the severity of the situation. I almost scoffed, but bit it back in favor of listening, attention split between him and quickly placing the IV. “Tech figured out where the guy should’a been, but, when we got there, we found her instead.” He explained, shoulders rolling fluidly to emphasize his own confusion before motioning to the girl.

“Was she conscious when you found her?” I didn’t want to think about how she might react to suddenly finding herself surrounded by strangers…

“Oh yeah.” He replied emphatically, head nodding. “Came running right up to Tech an’ wouldn’t let go – he thinks she recognized his armor.” Maker, I would have given anything to have seen Tech’s face in that moment… I wondered if Wrecker saw how still I went, even if only for the few seconds it took to fight the image of Tech, utterly frozen, arms flared, jaw agape as he stared at the tiny girl clinging to his leg in pure shock, from my mind.

“Did she tell you what happened?” I could hear the barely restrained laughter just tinting my words.

“Nah; wouldn’t say anything. Just held on to Tech ‘til the droids started shootin’ at us; then he had to carry her.” He explained, voice still oddly quiet. That humor faded, replaced with something far softer as I glanced once more toward Tech’s still lax face. “When we met up with Cross, Tech got her to stay in the cabin with him – she didn’t like me much. Pretty sure you can guess the rest.” He said it so dismissively, as though the words were meaningless, but I instantly stilled. That was the reason he hadn’t been wearing his helmet… why he’d so carefully kept his voice hushed and sat quietly rather than ignoring his injury in favor of insisting I let him help, and my heart broke for him.

I wanted to go to him, to cradle his hand between mine and whisper promises that he’d done nothing wrong, but time was a luxury not often granted in moments when even a few seconds of stillness was so desperately needed.

“You saved her life.” I whispered instead, attention pointedly trained on securing Tech’s injured arm to his chest before dragging my bag with me as I moved toward Hunter. He didn’t respond, head tilted down as his fingers picked thoughtlessly at the straps binding his leg. There was no uncertainty in the quiet that settled between us as I began scanning Hunter. He didn’t need to explain how the girl’s fear had hurt him in a way that would never stop haunting him, how it gnawed at a wound he wanted to pretend didn’t exist despite how effortlessly it crippled him, and I knew that no amount of heart-felt reassurance or affectionate words would dull that pain.

“How is he?” He asked somberly as the scanner went quiet.

“Stable, but not great.” I answered, quickly glancing over the results. “It’s stopped now, but he was bleeding internally, and that’s putting pressure on his lungs.” I didn’t mention that the bleeding could start again from even gentle movement; that the collected blood would soon begin to clot; that I was shocked his lung hadn’t collapsed already, and that I found myself counting every passing second, certain his body would suddenly jerk beneath some instinctual panic as his breathing all but stopped.

I let out a tense breath and glanced uselessly toward the cockpit before activating my com.

“Echo, any update?” I called, loathing the subtle plea that I couldn’t fully silence.

“We’ve already had to dodge a few patrols.” I heard the apology in his voice, the note of a guilt we both knew was unavoidable.

“Think you can keep us level for a minute?” He didn’t answer immediately, and I could only assume he was scanning for any hint of danger before answering.

“Do it quick.” There was a warning in those short words, and I didn’t waste a moment, quickly tossing my helmet onto a nearby seat.

“Wrecker, if you can move carefully, I could use your help.” I murmured, attention focused on retrieving the right supplies. In truth, I could have done this on my own, but there was comfort to be found for us both in sharing this burden. He responded merely by undoing his harness and hobbling across the small cabin toward me, one hand absently pressing against the roof to steady himself.

“Help me get his cuirass off.” I was already reaching out to begin undoing his armor, loathing the seemingly endless steps needed to gain access to his torso. Wrecker readily lowered himself into the seat beside his brother and followed suit, quickly piling the dark plastoid into a pile at his feet, and I couldn’t unsee how his jaw had tensed in that first moment after pulling off Hunter’s helmet. Deep bruises painted what skin wasn’t already darkened by his tattoo, leaving both eyes nearly swollen shut, and the gauze I’d secured to his nose was soaked through with now dried blood.

It wasn’t until I eased him toward me, balancing him against my chest as I kneeled on the floor in front of him to start carefully removing the heavy cuirass, that Hunter began to stir, a groggy hum catching weakly in his throat.

“Welcome back.” The warmth in my whispered words veiled the regret sinking through my chest at having woken him.

“…where…?” The question only just found breath to tumble from barely shifting lips.

“We’re all headed to the Marauder.” I answered calmly, stomach churning at the choked grunt he only belatedly managed to bite back as Wrecker shifted his arms to guide through the holes of his armor.

“Sorry, Sarg…” Wrecker muttered remorsefully. That flare of pain seemed to drag him further into a cursed awareness, head turning slightly to take in the dimly lit cabin.

“Wh… wha’ happe’ed?” He asked, voice thick and strained, trying vainly not to fight us as we maneuvered him out of his armor.

“A lot, but everyone’s onboard with us.” I said before Wrecker could offer a far more frightening answer. A low, tense groan caught in his throat as we gently leaned him back.

“…Doc…” The short word left in something closer to a cough than true speech. I hated the subtle tension in his brow, the faint creases it formed about tightly closed eyes, but I wouldn’t let myself stop, moving quickly to unwrap the plackart from his torso. “Pretty hard t…hard to b…breathe.” He huffed weakly, and I granted myself just a moment to wrap my hand around his, fingers twining together in a silent offer of whatever comfort that touch might grant him.

“I know, hun. I’m going to fix that right now. Okay?” He paused, as though processing what I’d said before a new tension stole through him, grip tightening around me for mere seconds before he forced himself under control. “I’ll give you something to take the edge off, and it’ll be quick.” I promised, squeezing his hand once more before releasing him.

“You want somethin’ to bite down on?” Wrecker asked as I retrieved the autoinjector. Hunter answered only with a small shake of his head, but his entire body jerked slightly when my fingers brushed along his lower ribs.

“Not ticklish, right?” I teased, earning a short, scoffed chuckle. In the same beat, I laid the injector against his side. Something akin to a growl escaped lips pulled into a weak snarl, fingers locking around the harness now hanging loosely around him, and Wrecker instinctively laid a massive hand over his chest. We all knew that gesture was meant to hold his brother still just as much as it was to offer support, but it was easier to pretend otherwise.

“Big poke.” I allowed him barely a second after the warning left my lips before piercing his side, automatically following the way his body bucked away from the intrusion to slip the catheter over the long needle. A strangled grunt morphed once more into that near growl before faltering into a shuttered sigh as a gush of dark blood shot between my hands onto the seat beside him. It quickly subsided to a slow drip, and the way his next breath broke with something too close to a whimper beneath a relief I knew too well left me straining to keep my own breath steady, eyes taking in the way that tension abandoned him into a boneless heap beneath his brother’s hand.

“Good,” I murmured, “just take a few deep breaths, and try not to move around too much.” He gave a small nod almost as an afterthought as I quickly secured the line to his side with an abundance of tape lest it jostle and cause even more damage. “How’s your throat feel?” He didn’t respond for a moment, tongue absently dragging out to wet his lips before wearily opening his eyes.

“It’s…” His hand shifted vaguely toward the bruised flesh in an almost dismissive gesture, “…sore?” He offered, but it was clear that whatever thought he’d given toward the answer was far less concerned by that than he was with the bliss of finally managing to fill his lungs with the crisp, nighttime air, and I couldn’t help but grin softly at him.

“Okay, let’s get you strapped back in, but let me know if anything gets worse.” He seemed to melt even further into the crash couch at my quiet whisper, eyes falling shut once more as Wrecker and I secured the harness around him.

“You, too.” I added with a smirk, my eyes shifting to meet Wrecker’s. He seemed surprised for a just a moment before his lips pulled into a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Really doesn’t hurt that bad.” There was no earnest fight in his feigned objection, and he let out a quiet chuckle as my brow hitched in a silent order, hands already pulling his own harness snugly around him.

“Alright; I need to check on Echo. Can you keep an eye on everyone back here?” The question wasn’t meant to placate whatever sense of uselessness his injury may have given him, and, as I held his gaze, I didn’t doubt that he understood that. He nodded, and I knew I could trust him to call me the instant something changed, freeing me to retrieve my pack once more before starting toward the cockpit.

Next Chapter

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fireismine · 1 year ago

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DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 5: Magic and Prophecies → Daenerys Being Resistant to Fire

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away … yet she was unhurt. - Daenerys X, A Game of Thrones

It took Dany half the morning to climb down. By the time she reached the bottom she was winded. Her muscles ached, and she felt as if she had the beginnings of a fever. The rocks had scraped her hands raw. They are better than they were, though, she decided as she picked at a broken blister. Her skin was pink and tender, and a pale milky fluid was leaking from her cracked palms, but her burns were healing. - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

Only the birth of her dragons amidst the fire and smoke of Khal Drogo’s funeral pyre had spared Dany herself from being dragged back to Vaes Dothrak to live out the remainder of her days amongst the crones of the dosh khaleen. The fire burned away my hair, but elsewise it did not touch me. It had been the same in Daznak’s Pit. - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

#danyweek2023 #canondany #asoiaf #daenerys targaryen

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verdemoun · 4 months ago

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au where fuck john marston because playing the epilogue has me upset. let kieran and mary-beth have the beecher's hope happiness

john replaces kieran in horsemen apocalypses with obviously much more devastating impacts

abigail is completely catatonic, leaving it to the gang to take over being jack's full-time carers

it has never been more obvious john was dutch's favorite son. chapter 5 levels of instability with hosea still there to watch his downfall and try to pick up the pieces

the gang go after colm in braithwaite fashion. in the process they discover colm has been working with bronte as mules to run bronte's weapon selling operation, and it was bronte that revealed where the gang were hiding thus leading to john's death

hosea joins in the assault on bronte's mansion, seeing dutch kill bronte and making a grim comment about not being the man he knew[loved], which almost seems to pull dutch out of it

no one realises hosea had in fact been shot until he falls off silver dollar dead, his last words to dutch anger and disgust

the gang are still forced to flee to beaver hollow in the aftermath of bronte's death, which the gang were much more visible and destructive in. all that was left of the mansion was soot-covered marble

except, kieran was able to claim colm's bounty AND retrieve the blackwater money, as an unknown member of the gang with no bounty in west elizabeth. there was an unspoken tension of the gang knowing they had enough money to flee, but dutch has no plan. dutch doesn't care anymore. he misses hosea, he misses his son

as micah becomes a more vocal presence and dutch has clearly reached a point of not caring, the gang falls apart quicker. arthur, knowing he's sick, forces lenny to leave and go find the future hosea wanted for him. strauss and trelawney both leave of their own accord. charles leaves to help the wapiti earlier, while eagle flies recovers from a bullet wound acquired trying to steal back their horses alone. miss grimshaw, seeing her words have no impact on dutch, who is no longer the passionate, charismatic man she had once loved, takes karen and tilly before their alcoholism/loyalty kills them both (arthur aggressively encouraging tilly as a sibling)

mary-beth stays because kieran (who she has fallen more and more in love with, and had those feeling requited) refuses to leave arthur, who he considers a friend and is devastated to watch waste away from illness and mourning, and because she is the only one left who can take care of jack.

abigail is captured by pinkertons, but with john's death, seeing how happy jack has been with mary-beth (who saved jack during the pinkerton attack, and can read with him and seemingly be a better mother than she has ever felt she was) fights more recklessly and is killed saving arthur from milton

sadie and arthur learn not only was micah a rat for the pinkertons, but he had also been an o'driscoll and ratted on them too. milton brags how stupid the vdls had been to let micah in, with micah telling colm their every movement, only to tell the pinkertons both gangs' secrets. which means micah had been responsible for john's death as much as bronte was, and micah had also lead to hosea's death

mary-beth and kieran leave with jack, under sadie's begruding protection while arthur tries to save dutch from blindly following micah's command as micah tries to replace hosea as the one dutch turns to when he doesn't have plan.

this leads to arthur's last stand, with dutch shooting micah as retaliation for john and hosea's death, and sitting beside arthur as he took his last breath. dutch would later be killed by pinkertons, still sitting beside his last son's corpse

mary-beth becomes an author, with jack always mentioned in the dedication as the proof reader. she buys beecher's hope with her book's first cheque because living in saint denis while trying to conceal they were part of the vdls is much more difficult

jack grows up spoiled with his love of reading nurtured and kieran a patient man teaching him about horses in a gentle way that inspires passion instead of the idea of performing masculinity. jack doesn't see his role models belittle his dreams of writing or choose revenge over staying with family. with him. they get a dog and name it merlin because the legend of king arthur is their favorite story to read together. jack reads it to kieran, who does learn to read for himself but will prefer jack reading to him

#idk rdr2 but written for lovers of wholesome found family dynamics with happy endings

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deepperplexity · 1 year ago

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Prompt 5. Grave Of Snow [A2]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon

Setting: The Lands Around Delaford Estate & Delaford Estate

Continuation of: Prompt 1. Chimney Soot

A/N: This was harder to write than I'd thought it would be. My own greatest death fear is drowning, no other manner of dying scares me more than that but this fic as being buried alive and it's quite a horrendous thing too - and it's Christmas time, what a super jolly way to spend it 😂 Gosh, I hope you weren't expecting Rickmas2023 to be all sweet and fluffy 🙈👍❤

On another note, we're making an ice rink in our backyard (nearly done) and I just realised this year I have no prompt for ice skating 😱 Like, sure, you can connect almost any prompt with Ice Skating but there's no dedicated prompt for it this year - feels a little weird 😂

Tags/TW’s: Buried Alive, Fear Of Being Harmed, Mentions Past Physical Hurt (hand lashing and punishment), Fear Of Losing Someone, Mentions Past/Current Fears (being buried alive) ...and good doggies doing a good job too

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 3.2k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• You •⩥

You wiped at your face, the soot still clung to your skin, leaving you looking like a bandit raccoon as the handkerchief had protected your lower face. The dusty dress lay abandoned on the floor as you pulled on the rags you’d come to Delaford in. This can’t be happening, cannot, cannot be happening! The colonel! I-, I-, oh, I’m my own ruin!

You banged open the door, and slammed it shut by cheer force while running before you even released the handle. The winding, narrow steps were a death trap in your rush to get away. You were not going to stay for a lashing, for a rough yelling, for any punishment the upstanding man deemed fit for your actions — for your lack of knowledge about the very man himself rendering you unable to treat him correctly even. You didn’t even take the time to say goodbye to Mrs Garber, or inform Cook about you leaving. You just ran out into the snowy winter land outside as the winds whipped around, tossing about that very snow. While the clouds hid the warming rays of the sun, the sky was as grey as your trembling hands.

The night had gifted the world with another few inches of snow the stable boys were helping the other servants to shovel, but the servants’ side wasn’t cleared yet so your legs plummeted into the white cold to your mid-thighs. You shivered and hissed as your dress hiked up, the long underpants you wore upon your arrival were still up in your quarters. Your rush hadn’t allowed for more than your dress, shoes, and cloak to be put on.

You clumsily forced your way through the snow, not knowing where any paths were you only focused on reaching the tree line up ahead. It was far off, but you were determined to get away before anyone could get their hands on you. His gentle eyes still lingered in your head, the sweet warmth his voice spread through you, the slight scrutiny he’d viewed you with — as if he’d been trying to see beyond the soot and covering handkerchief. You’d never felt any tingle like the one he’d made your skin warm under. What was that even? A sudden lapse of judgement? A lust, like other men throw my way when they want to take advantage?No, that thought didn’t sit right with you. His gentleness was too clear, yet you knew nothing about him and you had met people like that before. Kind, caring, sweet — on the outside. Behind closed doors, that was a different matter entirely.

You feel forward, plummeting into the snow as your foot tripped on something. You were crawling forward a second later, determined to reach the trees, to hide among them and get away from the estate you had hoped would have been your salvation through the freezing winter. Now, well, you were even worse off than before. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I shouldn’t have tried so hard! I should have just told Mrs Thatch about the clog!

You reached the trees just as the sound of hounds filled the air. A foreboding dread filled you from within as you picked up the pace and nearly ploughed your way through the snow, your foggy breath heaving out of you while the hounds' yelps and howls seemed to turn louder. You grasped the first low-hanging branch of a pine and pulled yourself forward as the imposing trees sheltered you from the biting winds, the sounds of the hounds half drowned out as you dragged and pulled yourself forward until the snow lessened, burdening the branches above rather than the ground below.

A sigh of relief escaped you as you grabbed another branch and pulled yourself forward one final time before the snow only reached your knees. The relief was felt too soon while you sought to get deeper among the trees. You stumbled forward, snagging your foot on a hidden root below, only to grab a hold of another branch. It slipped through your numbing fingers, the pine needles like cutting blades — hardened by the cold — as they sliced at your palms while you ended up in the snow with a panted breath at the impact nearly burying your face in the white cold. Then you were pummelled.

The branch had been released with such force the tree swayed, its branches being freed of the heavy snow above before the sudden springing rippled through the nearest tree. Snow came crashing down in waves and you could do nothing but shield your face as the weight forced you to lay still — burying you completely without your cry of fear penetrating the deadly mass. Lord, no, you thought as you lay immobile with only a small bubble of air around your face thanks to your raised arms.

Why his chuckle echoed in your head, why the sturdiness of his body against yours filtered through the fear, why the gentle curiosity in his eyes shimmered before your mind's eyes you couldn’t tell. The echo of silver bells, the crackling of a fire, the swirl of dancing couples in wonderful dresses and beautiful frocks seemed like a hazy fog of a dream you’d wished for all your life and were now never to experience. Not even as an attentive maid blending into the scenery without anyone taking notice. In that foggy dream, keeping the horror of your grave of snow at a distance, he stood at the very centre and his eyes — gentle and sweet — were only on you. The tingling warmth in your numb fingers and toes felt as real as the crawling chill along your back while you struggled more and more to breathe and stay conscious.

⩤• Brandon •⩥

“Samson, search!” he bellowed, his voice travelling further than needed. Your dusty handkerchief held tightly in his harsh fist, the hound’s nose just having been buried in it before the other dogs took a whiff. The hound howled, setting the other dogs off with yelps and barks as they dove into the snow, the path your body had cut through it already starting to fill with the swirling snow the harsh winds threw about.

He had never been spellbound before. The way he had seen only your eyes surrounded by black ash ought to have discouraged any sensations within his chest but, alas, the wonder your eyes were and the manner you spoke with had taken him by such surprise his heart had no chance but to pound. He’d never thought sticking his head in a chimney while talking about Santa Claus would have lurched his entire body into a warm pounding. You had spoken so sweetly, your eyes those of someone who knew hardship yet prevailed. He was enthralled with the glimmer in them the second your eyes had connected in the dark of the chimney.

The hound howled again as he stepped out of the protective walls of stone, through the servants’ door, and felt himself sink to right above his knee in the snow. Remembering the disarray of your quarters, the discarded dress, the abandoned second undergarments that should have clad your body to protect against the snow — no matter the horridly tattered state of the thin fabrics — made his stomach twist.

He was not unfamiliar with the cold, the wetness, the dampness of melted snow, and how it would cling to one’s body. He had spent far too many seasons in service of the royals not to have experienced all sorts of weather and their respective challenges. And now you were out there, exposed and frightened given the horrendous look you had offered him before running away in a poof of swirling ash dust. There had been something wrong with that look, the dread of it — and the manner you had wrung your hands before you. what harm has befallen you before? Have hands been laid atop you for such a small thing as spreading ash?

He gave chase, following the loud dogs with servants following behind him with his heart in a harsh pounding. The snow wasted no time clinging to him, seeping through his clothes not suitable for the weather in the slightest. The only thing he’d done was drape a heavy cloak around himself while Mr Barkley had fetched the hunting dogs, his beloved hound at the helm of the pack. He was grateful for having taken that extra second to at least do that as the wind was bitingly cold, nearly clawing at his cheeks while the sky above seemed to darken by the second until the snow being thrown about was so thick the clouds above were no longer visible.

“Samson! Search!” he called, the hound howling back while your trembling shoulders filled his head. Something had been done to you, someone had hurt you for something akin to what had just happened and he could not fathom anyone harming anyone over cleaning, or stumbling, or not knowing the face of a man they had never before met.

Samson howled and came bolting back toward him, Christopher felt his heart stop as the dog kept sniffing the ground at his feet, searching for a fresher scent. The trail you’d left behind was gone, he could barely see an inch before him as the snow stuck to his lashes. He pulled out the handkerchief again, beckoning Samson to take a new whiff — the hound ignored him while sniffing the ground harder, burrowing his nose below the top layer before digging his way through the snow toward the trees Christopher knew lay not far away even if he could not see them.

“Sir Brandon!” Mr Barr called behind him. “Sir! The winds are too strong!” the man called over the howling of that very phenomenon of nature. “We shall find her! Or she will perish out here!” he called back, not stopping his trudge forward despite the snow gripping him nearly to his mid-thighs by that time. I shall not lose her to this storm , he thought while leaning forward to push through the snow faster, following the small dent after Samson and the rest of the dogs. “Sir! It’s too dangerous!” Mr Barr called, but he ignored it. He had faced danger, and the storm wrapping him up was nothing compared to the horrors of his past, or the pain contained within it.

They reached the trees and the thickness of the branches kept the worst of the winds at bay, the snow on the ground lessening for each step until it barely came to his knees and he could move faster. Samson’s howl up ahead caught his attention, he’d found something. Christopher barged forward, running despite the snow and whipping branches, until he found his dogs digging at what appeared to be a mound of snow created by yielding branches.

His heart leapt toward his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Are you in there? His mind had time to wonder before he lurched into action. If you lay buried under such heavy snow, had you any air to breathe? Had you broken anything? Were you crushed? To be buried alive had been one of his greatest fears back in the East Indies, and even before that. When he was a lesser man, fighting in trenches filled with muddy water that could have easily turned into a watery grave in the madness of battle.

He dug, and dug, and dug until his skin felt as if it would slide off his icy fingers and his nails crack with the cold. That was when your fingers appeared, icy cold and unmoving. His lungs stuttered on a sharp intake of air while Samson licked the fingers quickly. He dug with all his might just as the servants appeared behind him. “Dig, men! Dig! ” he demanded with such a dark rumble he barely recognized his frantic voice himself.

A frantic moment later you were dug out from the snowy grave he would not allow to become an eternal resting place. He dragged you too forcefully into his arms, wiping away snow from your cold face, smearing the ash further — hiding your face from him behind a blotchy mess of black and grey — but he could not have cared less as he saw foggy air part from between your lips. His shoulders sank with relief before he held you up and took off his cloak by interchanging his arms. You were tightly wrapped but unresponsive as he stood with Samson by his leg, his entire body wiggling with the motion of his tail as it wagged relentlessly from having found his target.

⩤• You •⩥

You shivered, a wet rag graced your forehead in a rubbing motion while the deep sigh of a woman echoed all around you. “Stupid child, why would you run in such a manner,” Mrs Garber nearly whispered, the familiarity of her voice softening the pounding of your heart. “And from the colonel no less, foolish girl.” You couldn’t tell if your mother’s long-lost friend was angry or worried, her voice didn’t let it slip through fully.

When your eyes blinked open she was leaning over you, and you were almost too warm. “Oh, Y/n,” she said while you blinked a few more times to clear your vision. “Foolish girl, you had me so worried!” she chided, but, perhaps affectionately so. “Mary?” you asked and she sighed but nodded. “Where-, where am I?” you asked as your eyes flicked about the glorious room as you tried to move your stiff limbs. A giant canopy of thick fabric was above you, the mattress beneath was the most comfortable one you’d ever laid upon, and the covers atop you felt lush — like silk, expensive silk.

“Oh, sweet child, you’re in—” “Mrs Thatch,” came that gravelly voice which sent goosebumps along every inch of your skin while your heart picked up the pace a notch as you turned your eyes toward the slightly ajar door. “Give me an occupation, or I shall run mad,” he continued so quietly it shouldn’t have been possible for you to hear the words. But his voice travelled far, even in such a low tone appearing to be far away given the echo to it. “Colonel, sir,” that shrill voice from the grand room before said. “There is little to do but wait. She is in good care with Mrs Garber, sir.”

Your eyebrows scrunched, he sounded anxious — it didn’t suit that voice at all to have such a tone. You found yourself wishing to hear that chuckle of his again. Perhaps you had a fever and were delirious? “You have had the master so worried, Y/n. How could you do such a thing to the good man?” Mrs Garber chided quietly but you couldn’t quite grasp the words. “Now, you lay here and I shall fetch the man before he drives himself to insanity. You apologise, you hear me? He is a gentle soul, I will not have you tormenting the respectable man with your nonsense behaviour. Your mother wasn't able to run away but that does not give you the right to bolt in such a manner.” Her eyes were harsh, nearly glaringly so, as she rose and tucked the cover all the way up to your chin before smoothing out your hair in what you believed to be an attempt at making you appear more decent.

Your heart pounded harder with each step she moved toward the door. When she pushed it open you sat up, the cover pooling around your waist while the nightshirt placed on you kept you covered from your collarbones and down. “She’s awake, sir,” Mrs Garber said and, not a second later, he was in the doorway. “Miss Y/l/n,” he said without taking so much as half a step into the room itself. His voice was that of relief, his gentle eyes warm in the glow of the hearth at the opposite end of the room from where you lay in a giant bed.

You felt your cheeks heat, your fingers gripping the cover atop your legs harshly while your eyes folded from his intent viewing of you. Your heart ran amok as he stood in figure-disclosing attire with his black frock coat nearly clinging to his waist while the shiny boots adorning his feet glimmered in just as black a colour.

“Miss Y/n/l? Are you fairing?” he asked while taking a step closer, making your head jerk up. “I-, I am,” you stuttered. “Sir, I’m-, I apologies, for my behaviour,” you continued while you endeavoured to remember what had happened after you lost your grip on the branch with slicing blades for pine needles. “Not a word about it,” he said as he began moving in, toward the foot of the bed. The light of the fire encased him in a glowing halo, making his hair shimmer and the glimmer in his eyes appeared brighter as his eyes held yours.

Why is my heart running rampant? I’m-, I’m all tingly all over when he views me. Your thoughts were uncertain but your body seemed to react in a wholly new way to the grand man before you. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice dipping lower. You could only manage to shake your head. “You were buried in the snow,” he said after a moment. His fingers curled around the footrest of the bed, his knuckles whitening at the force used. Your breath hitched at the sight, so alike hands around a riding crop used for lashings.

Your fingers began fidgeting, your hands wringing and rubbing atop the cover. The memory of the pain was far too fresh. “Miss?” he said, snatching your attention. “Are your hands hurting?” You stiffened for a second before you let go and grabbed the cover anew while shaking your head. “Did someone lay harm upon you?” You didn’t move, didn’t say a thing, only kept your eyes on his whitening knuckles. It was a common thing, after all. Masters laid hands upon their servants as they deemed fit, and you had time and time again ended up at the mercy of such wicked, cruel men and women were either fate or a coincidence.

Your breath hitched as he suddenly pushed off the bed frame, stepping around to stand at your side in less than three long strides. You shrunk into the mattress, his imposing figure hard to take so closely — yet, it wasn’t just fear of retribution that made you do so. No, no there was something else entirely imposing about him that you fought against so as not to be drawn in. If it were his handsomeness, the memory of his sweet chuckle, or those gentle eyes that now seemed to flare with something darker you couldn’t quite say. But he warmed you in places he ought not to have been able to reach at all.

“No matter,” he said quietly, a mere drawl of a whisper. “You are safe here, miss. No harm will befall you within my estate.” “S-sir?” you squeaked out, confused at his sweet words spoken in such a harsh tone. “Are you not to punish me?” you continued with a tremble to your voice that had far more to do with the warmth he spread within you than the question you’d just asked. His eyes flared before his entire face softened. “No, my sweet. No punishment shall ever befall you for breathing life into my heart with those eyes of yours.”

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Ugh, theses two... Gosh, I do love it when emotions are instant and soulmate-like 😩👏 And another cliffhanger it is - are we excited to see where this goes? 👀😘

I'm working as hard as I can to make sure I'm as early as possible posting and I'm going to start working on tomorrow's prompt right away, I have a little extra time today (aka I'm taking the time today 'cus I need it 😂) so perhaps I'll start working on Thursday's prompt too - tomorrow we're getting back to Turpin again anyway! 🥰👏

Q: If you had to choose between only listening to Christmas music and no other music or only watching Christmas movies and no other movies through all of December - what would you choose? 👀 A: I'd say I'd choose Christmas music - but, I love it and almost exclusively listen to Christmas music through November and December anyway 😂 Only watching Christmas movies would be harder 🙈

TAGLIST: @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight14 @caseydoodles98 @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @sunset90 @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

#colonel brandon x reader #rickmas2023 #colonel brandon #sense and sensibility fic #christmas fic #alan rickman #rickmaniac #rickmas

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olenvasynyt · 6 months ago

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A Court of Embers and Sunlight: A Lucien backstory: Chapter 5

Summary:

It has been eighty years since the end of the Human War, and a delicate, tenuous peace has grown in Prythian. But as an ancient rivalry between two High families suddenly arises, the consequences of the War are pondered, and painful memories are stirred up for members of the Vanserra family, including Eris Vanserra and the Lady of Autumn. But being sixty and the youngest of seven brothers, Lucien Vanserra is eager to avoid a lot of things. Including the consequences of the War. Haunted by secrets and keen to avoid the Forest House, Lucien allows his errancy to lead him to Prythian’s Summer beaches, Winter lakes, and Spring fields until he finds himself stumbling down a path to a female he never expected. One who lights up his dark, rotting world like dappled sunlight through the leaves.

Read on Ao3

Start from the beginning

Chapter snippet:

Eris glanced down at his brother again, and it felt like a thorn buried in his chest at the expression on the boy’s face. By the fucking Mother—did he ever look like that when he was younger? Lucien looked up at him expectantly, with hope as frail and green as a freshly hatched cicada. He hated it, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

No, he knew why. He hated to see that innocence because he knew how quickly it would be squashed, no matter how hard their mother tried to shield her youngest child from the world.

Lucien continued to trot next to him. He wore mismatched socks with no boots, one a bright yellow adorned with orange leaves and the other a brown dress sock with a hole in the big toe. Those socks anxiously paddered on the stone floor.

Still a child in most ways. But he wouldn’t be a child for much longer , Eris begrudgingly thought to himself. Because there were no children in The Forest House. Not because of how rare High Fae children were, but because of how fast they grew up. All of the Vanserra sons became males when they were eight years old, or six, or four, or whatever the age they were when Beron first yelled at them across the dining room table, or struck them, or pulled them down to a cell by the scruff of their neck. They had never been children. Not when they had a wooden sword thrust so early in their hand and wore bruises on their wrists or cheeks that matched their mother’s. The only signs that pointed to them being children were their stature and their little fingers sticky with soot and sugar. But the sugar would soon melt away as their fire grew, their height would lengthen with their growth spurts, and they would learn how to wield their sharpened tongues as they did their swords.

#lucien backstory #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra #lady of the autumn court #lady of autumn #the lady of autumn #the autumn Court #acotar fanfics #lucien and jesminda #jesminda #a court of embers and sunlight

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fdelopera · 2 months ago

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Welcome to the 27th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 115 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part I of Chapter 11, “L'enveloppe magique” (“The Magic Envelope”).

This section was first printed on Wednesday, 3 November, 1909.

Gaston Leroux cut "The Magic Envelope" from his novel when he prepared the First Edition for publication.

In January of 2014, I published my translation of this chapter. Mine was the first English translation of this chapter to be published.

You can read my full translation of "The Magic Envelope" on my blog here.

The text of this section starts at "Mama Giry had been reinstated in her duties," and goes to "And from under his monk’s robe, he too produced the missive that he had received from P. of the O."

TRANSLATION:

Mama Giry had been reinstated in her duties. It is certainly not in the Memoirs of M. Moncharmin that one can find evidence of so pathetic a capitulation before the occult force of the Phantom. Furthermore, whether he believed that he had been tricked by someone more cunning than he — and we shall soon see whom he at least momentarily suspected — or whether he was in truth ashamed to admit or suggest his managerial concern, Moncharmin spoke no more of the Phantom except in a vague, cautious, and frequently incomprehensible manner. On the other hand, one could not doubt that MM. Richard and Moncharmin, as reasonable people, endeavored to wake from the dream that had begun to take hold of them in Box 5 on that disastrous evening. The following day, they agreed to make it known that they had neither felt nor heard anything extraordinary in that infernal box, and the words that heralded the accident: “She is singing tonight to bring down the chandelier,” were to be regarded as just a trick of their overactive imaginations. All the same, they had a lengthy and secret discussion after a tempestuous visit to see the poor Carlotta, who had taken to her bed, unable to recover from her misfortune. And then they spent an entire afternoon in the rafters of the building. A careful inspection of the chandelier’s means of suspension left them rather puzzled, and that very evening, they sent their apologies to Mama Giry.

They entreated her to resume the management of Box 5 and they resolved to enter into negotiations with the P. of the O.

They deemed that they could devise no better strategy for overcoming this mysterious figure than by making him believe they were finally giving in to the explicit attempt at extortion inscribed in red ink in the Opera’s document of terms and conditions. As we can see, the Managers’ frame of mind had undergone an important transformation. They no longer claimed they were dealing with a prankster, but instead concluded that he must be a crook of outrageous audacity. And they intended to catch him, the result of which were several incidents that were faithfully related to me by way of Mama Giry, then by way of Mercier, the Administrator, and finally by Gabriel himself, the chorus master and confidant of Richard, as Mercier was that of Moncharmin.

Mama Giry did not seem to have held any hard feelings towards the Managers for their regrettable behavior against her. Or at least, demonstrating great dignity, she did not show any. She still wore her air of aloof reserve, as well as her shawl and her soot colored hat. When she had returned to her duties, Moncharmin coldly gave her a letter for the Phantom. She took it and calmly placed it in her basket, announcing that she would bring this letter to the Phantom that very evening.

Needless to say, from that day onwards, the Managers no longer quarreled with their unseen guest over his box. The day after they wrote to him, they received his reply. The post office, in an utterly nonsupernatural fashion, delivered his letter to them.

“Messieurs,” wrote P. of the O., “I have taken note of your offers up to now. But do not become impatient. When the time is right, and it won’t be long, I shall inform you of when and how you shall remit to me the 20,000 francs of my current monthly salary. — P.S. I understand that Christine Daaé is somewhat unwell, so you need not worry if you do not see her these days. She will send you a note when she is better. The young lady is in need of rest. You can take my word for it. Friendly regards.”

“It seems to me that our Phantom has every appearance of ruining women’s reputations,” declared Moncharmin!

But for the moment, they decided not to probe the mystery of that relationship. Likewise, they restrained themselves from keeping watch over Mother Giry, and so they were unaware of how she actually corresponded with their new “friend.” In this way, they tried to avoid arousing his suspicion, for they wanted to catch him red-handed.

All of this took place before the ball. Now, an important event occurred on the morning of the day when the Opera was to give its commemorative masquerade ball. MM. Moncharmin and Richard each in turn received a letter from P. of the O. These letters gave them “private” instructions that put them on guard against each other, and imposed on them a series of actions from which they could not deviate, and which they were to keep secret from one another…

The wording of the two letters, moreover, was exactly the same:

“My dear Manager, I have deemed it best that we should discuss our business directly; it will allow us to talk over these matters more easily, and I have resolved to confer with you personally, since you are a gentleman, a shrewd judge of character, and a person of the highest intellect, qualities that are greatly appreciated, and that I would be at pains to find in your unfortunate colleague. If you do not want anything untoward to occur between us, I cannot advise you too strongly to keep the plan that I shall reveal to you a secret. It is simple. Rest assured that I shall not instruct you to bring the 20,000 francs with you. You would put me behind bars as soon as I had the money in my pocket, and then it is I who would be robbed. No, but I shall tell you viva voce how you must go about getting me the money so that, each month, it reaches me without any risk, either to it or to me.

“And now, here are the conditions in which we two shall meet. I shall come to the ball this evening, masked, dressed as a Capuchin friar in a grey robe with a cowl over my head. You shall come wearing the same costume, masked. Rendezvous between quarter-past and half-past midnight in the third box, which is located directly below the ‘Box of the Blind.’ The first one to arrive shall await the other. Friendly regards. — P.S. You can inform the police; they will laugh. P. of the O.”

M. Moncharmin did not inform anyone. M. Richard did the same as he. If through that experiment, P. of the O. had tried to determine the degree of influence that he exerted over the minds of the two Managers, he must have been pleased. His instructions were followed to the letter.

At the Opera, the so-called Box of the Blind was an amply spacious box that was situated in the top tier of the auditorium, and from which one could not see a thing. This circumstance was not, as one might believe, the primary reason for such a title. One must seek an explanation in the fact that a previous manager had reserved this box for the exclusive use of the institutions of the blind, who brought their residents to the Opera free of charge. These enthusiasts, ecstatic and drunk with music, wearing the fervent and haggard features of opium lovers, would cup their hands to their ears to better imbibe the thunder of the orchestra.[1]

At exactly a quarter past midnight, Moncharmin, wrapped head to toe in his monk’s robe, wearing his cowl and his mask, entered the appointed box — below the Box of the Blind — and there he waited. Richard, likewise disguised beneath his cowl, met him there soon after. They stared at each other for a long while through the two holes in their masks, each convinced that he saw before him the elusive P. of the O. … and they waited for the other to begin the conversation.

It was then that they heard a voice speak, as we have related in the previous chapter:

“At last, monsieur, you are here! But do you not think it would be better to chat in your office? Here, monsieur, we must always be wary of eavesdroppers! Let us go to your office, monsieur…”[2]

As there was no one in the box except for the two monks, each believed that he heard the other speak, and they both bowed to each other in acknowledgement. It was Richard who made the first move to leave; Moncharmin followed him. They were serious and pensive as they traversed the rooms and corridors where the masquerade ball was in full swing. Soon they found themselves behind the stage and they climbed the administrator’s staircase. Richard, walking in front, was convinced that he was showing the other figure the way. Moncharmin, following behind, said to himself, “He knows the route as well as I do, and he moves through it as if he were at home!”

In this way, they entered the Manager’s office; Moncharmin closed the door and waited. Richard also waited. And this time, no voice seemed to take the initiative in the conversation.

Growing impatient, Richard, being the more irritable of the two, was the first to break the infuriating silence.

“We must put an end to this!” he cried.

Hearing Richard’s voice, Moncharmin received a shock that sent him stumbling backwards. And then suddenly, he burst out laughing.

“Hah! For a day of masquerading,” he said, “that’s not bad.”

And recognizing Moncharmin’s voice, Richard rushed over to the monk and threw back his cowl. His mask fell to the ground. There stood the figure of his colleague, who was laughing so hard that tears were in his eyes.

“You are an imbecile!” Richard declared simply, throwing his mask on the desk in a huff.

“Obviously I’m an imbecile!” agreed Moncharmin. “I should have suspected that this entire production could only be one of your practical jokes. Not bad, not bad at all, my dear P. of the O., and congratulations!”

“Huh?” asked Richard.

“I told you: congratulations!”

“I say! Are you mad? And are you quite done mocking me?… I will have you know that I am not in the mood…”

In the face of Richard’s genuine anger, Moncharmin, growing more and more bewildered, seemed to ponder something; then he took a letter from his pocket and held it out to his colleague. Richard took it, glanced at it briefly, and could not hold back a cry of astonishment.

“This is too much!” he exclaimed. “I received the same letter. We have been tricked once again. But by whom? I swear that I know nothing about this, and please believe me that he will pay!…”

Moncharmin said: “Are you being serious, Richard?”

“I say! What do you think?” said Richard irritably. “Do you want to see my letter? Look! Here it is!”

And from under his monk’s robe, he too produced the missive that he had received from P. of the O.

NOTES:

[1] This phrase is an almost exact quote from the introduction to the 1860 French translation of Lorenzo da Ponte’s Memoirs. Da Ponte was an Italian poet and opera librettist, best known for writing the libretti for three of Mozart’s greatest operas: Così fan tutte, Le nozze di Figaro, and Don Giovanni. Leroux’s phrase is: “élevant leurs mains en conque à leurs oreilles, comme pour mieux boire le vent de l’orchestre.” The phrase from the introduction to da Ponte’s translated Memoirs, written by A. de Lamartine, is: “élevant ses deux mains en conque à ses oreilles, comme pour mieux boire le vent de l’orchestre.” It is unclear why Leroux chose to use this phrase in this location. De Lamartine was describing what he saw when he watched da Ponte listen to Italian opera: “cupping his two hands to his ears to better imbibe the thunder of the orchestra.” Leroux was describing blind opera enthusiasts who resembled opium addicts doing the same. If Leroux did borrow this phrase from de Lamartine, it is unclear whether he intended it to bear any association with da Ponte, other than the general opera connection.

[2] In the previous chapter of the feuilleton, “At the Masquerade Ball,” Christine and Raoul are hiding in an adjacent box, and overhear Erik speaking these words to the Managers. Leroux omitted this part of that chapter from his First Edition.

ABOUT THE BOX OF THE BLIND:

When I visited the Palais Garnier in 2015, I discovered the location of the “Box of the Blind” that Leroux described in The Magic Envelope. See the photos below.

In the Gaulois, Leroux explained that the Box of the Blind was “an amply spacious box that was situated in the top tier of the auditorium, and from which one could not see a thing.”

We know from the Gaulois text that during the masked ball, the Managers agreed to “meet” Erik in the box directly below the Box of the Blind (Erik meanwhile was hiding in the Box of the Blind and threw his voice into the box below), and that Christine and Raoul hid in the box next door to the Managers.

The only box that meets Leroux’s description for the Box of the Blind is the one pictured in the top right of the photos above, beneath the angel sculptures. There is a parallel box on the other side of the auditorium, but I was able to figure out from the Gaulois text that Christine and Raoul hid in a box on the left side of the house. So the Box of the Blind must have been on the left side, as well.

This means that Erik was in the Box of the Blind (the box beneath the angel sculpture), the Managers were in the ornate box below it, and Christine and Raoul were in the box next to the Managers. Incidentally, the box where Christine and Raoul were hidden was two levels directly above Box 5.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 3 November, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

#phantom of the opera #poto #gaston leroux #le fantôme de l’opéra #le gaulois #phantom translation #the magic envelope #l'enveloppe magique #box of the blind #15 weeks of phantom #phantom 115th anniversary

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the-mcyt-crackships-brackets · 11 months ago

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PSA: These Brackets contain multiple Ch!WilburSoot ships, We DO NOT stand with CC!WilburSoot actions, and send all of our support toward shubble, if you are uncomfortable with these ships, please don't interact and/or block the wilbur soot tag. if those ships are too problematic, they can be replaced. anyway his ass got destroyed

Welcome to the MCYT Crackships Bracket!

Here, we will be seing which crackship is the best, and because that statement is vague, you get to make your opinion!

Each crackships was randomly agenced from Characters You chose! (This also sadly means we can't take more submissions, at least yet (mcyt crackships brackets V.2. Confirmed ???))

This is all meant to be in good fun, so please be respectfull with others and use propaganda the least wisely you can! (propaganda isn't endorsed, it's encouraged!)

We as a community can get inspired by these, make art! fanfics! (and if you do, please tag me) of your favorite Crackship!

Maybe we could even find a name for them, after all, maybe the next "big ship" will be in this, who knows?

WE ARE NOW IN THE SEMIFINALS!

The brackets will not be revealed yet, but when all of the polls will be published! this way, we can still get you surprised!

*Orionsound - Rat SMP version

*LDshadowlady - Empire SMP season 1 version

*Zombiecleo - Pirate SMP version

*Katherine Elizabeth - Empire SMP season 2 version

*Fundy - L'Manberg version

*Fwhip - Empire SMP season 1 version

*Pearlescentmoon - Double life version

*Slimecicle - QSMP version

Our thoughts and observations under the cut!

Round 1:

I clearly thought Ninjaslap would be the biggest sweep, but pixltoile suprisingly fought well, And fish yuri left no shot to Zaypixel and Geminitay

Round 1.1.3 was extremly close, but Shubble x Hypno won by O.8%! (≈4 peoples!)

We already got two piece of "propagandart" (propaganda art) in round 1, and both were for Fish yuri! (by @t4tpolypd and @staringamassivemistakeintheface)

Round 2:

Mogbeans/Swamp boys tried hard but T4T yuri was stronger (My boys 😭 - Admin 1)

Littlesoot got its ass kicked by hotguy/fundy and was crying in a corner when suddendly, out of nowhere, it took itlwblr by storm, broke containment, the poll broke 1k votes, became the most noted of the brackets (yet) and won with a large margin!

FWhilza fought well but Bighills was stronger

Fish Yuri still prevail with the biggest sweep yet (87.3%!!!)

Jojosolos/Jack Manifold vs Tommyinnit/Scott Smajor was the closest yet! (50.1 to 49.9!!!!)

So many art!!!!!!! look at the tag (#propagandart) it's worth it!!!!!

Round 3 and PURGATORY 1 :

Scegg vs Stresstherine was so close it switched side at least 5 times!

i'm genuenely impressed by clownscar comeback they've constantly been close but didn't get ahead during the whole poll and somehow managed to win in the last stretch!

WE MADE MOGBEANS CANON!!!!!!! VIVA LA SOS SMP!!!!

Fish Yuri is unstopable and has killed many great ships now (rip Bighills we loved you so much)

Bdubs Smol Bdubs is tall!

Content SMP fans are sad today, the last two ships they had just sank! (bye bye Evillnox and Skizzlerat)

So much art! and even more as been promised! (you need to check out #propagandart if you haven't already)

Round 4 and PURGATORY 2 :

Fish Wives felt resistence to the first time facing Clownscar, but still they were too powerful

Clownscar you will forever live in our hearts

Wilbur you're a pig, Yuri beat his ass! (and so they did)

Zombiecello/Ivorycleo popped off! >90% sweepage!

3/8 ships still in line are yuri, but none of them are part of the PURGATORY Brackets!

Goodbye Zaypixel, our only Yuri Loss this round :(

You guys seem to love shipping Ethoslab a lot (bunch of ethogirls) as he is in 35% of the remaining ships

even more art, and art trades! (go ceck out #propagandart and #takin' request)

Round 5 and Purgatory 3:

Yuri lost so much, and is now only represented by Fish Wives :(

Half of the ships still in have a wild etho in them (ethogirls rise up!)

The now no-longer-crackship mogbeans is still thriving and bested the fan-favorite fwhilza!

Seapeekarl fought well, but lost to the ethogirls again

this is the first round where they weren't a >40% sweep! but the choice are only getting harder from here!

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lowcountry-gothic · 1 year ago

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A poem for each EnneaType.

By Melissa Kircher, transcribed from @enneagrampaths.

A poem for EnneaType 1

and failure isn't failing it's actually an event creating space for new life to burst into wild reality

A poem for EnneaType 2

the soot and ash a charcoal facade behind which two eyes, glowing watch out she burns hot

A poem for EnneaType 3

I think poetry might be inside you the words there ready to tumble out I think the stars shine only for you tonight and the earth turns to keep you on it

A poem for EnneaType 4

if I let out the pain I said it will shatter galaxies that's fine she replied I made lots of them you can break a few

A poem for EnneaType 5

stay anchor in the depths every drop in the ocean sings for your presence here. now.

A poem for EnneaType 6

opening like petals rooted like pines woven back whole one thread at a time stretching up, out, down new rhythms like rhyme mothered soul tender finding child eyes dancing forest wild tasting deep like prophets wise

A poem for EnneaType 7

the sun hanging by a thread details that weigh mountains I want to find you again the girl in the tutu that sparkled and when I do pulling you into my lap I'll whisper you already knew the wisdom of the Universe

A poem for EnneaType 8

strong is two feet solid in the soil toes curled into the loam strong is letting pain sweep through your branches and losing some leaves strong is allowing the shadows to surround you to change you and then gently letting them pass

A poem for EnneaType 9

what could I do? these were my people so I went I entered their anguish I felt their relation and then I understood the spectrum of my own heart

#poetry #melissa kircher #enneagram #enneagram 1 #enneagram 2 #enneagram 3 #enneagram 4 #enneagram 5 #enneagram 6 #enneagram 7 #enneagram 8 #enneagram 9

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t-inbound · 13 days ago

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Nari (The Five Traitors)

So folk, it is time. It is time for the last of this Fic to be uploaded. The last chapter of The Five Traitors, It had been rather delightful writing this for all of us. I had much fun (: Anyhow, I don't wanna take too much of you folk's time...

Sooooooo ACTION!!!!!!

Cold…

So cold… was the land above the clouds that hid his temple.

Cold are the hands that grasp the railing overlooking the mighty revered mountain that cradled his young sanctuary. One that had much warmth and flame hidden from the mist ridden outside.

Cold is the heart that cared for his lot but also the lot that would take, take what was his and his by right.

His breath, blending with the cloud and the mist as he sighed and gazed with his three eyes that saw too much. Beyond the summit towards the skirts of the ancient earth and young woods laid an army, one with terrible purpose and blade that matched their tenacity.

An army with four mighty Gods leading their procession. At a crusade to pierce the clouds and bring with them what goes as comeuppance to their misbegotten ilk.

A sneer, from so deep it brings with it bile as bitter and black as the soot of their burning torches raised to the heavens. Their steps carry them higher and higher until they threaten to burn the very heavens above. One step after the first, one step closer to their upcoming sin.

The calming cold, taking his hand as an old friend would, something he lacked these days. Yet he felt his skin burn, a true oddity one as cold as the grave along his heart.

What gave him that searing scorch in that terrible moment was the irrefutable fact that this terrible army was going to make its way here. No matter what he hoped for. They will climb and climb till they bring with them something so natural to himself.

Death.

Eternal slumber, nature of life, passing of a moment between birth and the last breath taken.

They will bring blade not to cut crop over their garden, but to cut his lot like weed grown on a hollow field. They will bring songs not to sing together, but to drown their voices with their own. They will bring fire, not to warm their hearth, but to set aflame the world they made for themselves. The world they built away from them.

He should move, they should prepare. He should go down there to fight against them. They should lay traps, they should bring the whole mountain atop the traitors with an avalanche. Crush each of them under the rubble like bugs, until there is nothing left but the passing memory of their terrible endeavor.

He could do it, he could unleash hellfire to melt this snow and the earth to the ore beneath then to ash then to the very cold winds that shall pester another mountain with its own tale of betrayal.

He should fight, he should scream, kick and tear at the very stone till they would have to drag him down with them. Back to earth, to their once warm home.

Perhaps his siblings would put on an act after they take his lot away to his realm. They might say they forgive him, as if he had sinned. Perhaps they would tell him he misunderstood them. They would tell him he was the one in the wrong, that he had to understand them. That their way was greater than his. That the death of his lot was just as they were.

They would take him back. March him back down, each agonizing step after another. Perhaps they would take his arms and armor, perhaps watch him night and day like an unruly beast, perhaps even tarnish his name for good measure. Yet they would accept him back to the fold, the rule would be unequal as ever, yet he would have a place at the table.

Table built on terrible sin and a leg inch shorter than the rest. Yet he would have them with him, his dearest siblings. He would yet again bear the burden of their companionship.

What cosmic catastrophe allowed this to occur? Sibling against one another. Claw against blade. Taking in another cold breath he accepted that sulking would do him no good, he needed not to be alone but to make amends.

To take action. To take charge of his procession. To take his lot and assure them of his presence. To tell them he is with them. To tell them he is of them as they are of him. Yet every time he gazed upon them he felt like a stranger. A stranger greater than he. One who could find a way off this hell not too unlike the one he preceded over. One who took action as opposed to one who merely waited.

Alas he was stuck, upon this balcony watching their doom approaching, each step like drums against the barren earth they left in their wake.

Why was he stuck? Why couldn’t he just… move? Just take a step, one after the other. Away from the railing. One step closer to their end. Just take a step…

He felt the cold marble leave his paw as he felt the wind wash from his face. He found himself in the darkness of his chamber. A paw closed the door behind him without looking, his digits still freezing.

There was no fire within his chamber nor in the whole temple. They had to stay in the dark and cold. Other than candlelight that only served to make them wish for more. It was a way to hide them away. Then again, what use was it? That army would find them eventually as they marched higher and higher. Yet he couldn’t take this one inkling of comfort from his lot, a possibility of survival was better than a promised destruction.

So their home stayed barren of warmth other than the hearts of his lot. His lot, the poor and the damned. Even in his chambers he could hear them. His ears picking the wails of children, their parents pleas to join the ranks of the defenders and the harsh orders spoken by his ‘soldiers’.

A scoff heard by no one came from him. What soldier? What warrior? He had neither. Just some old rams, ewes and random assortment of others with withered steel as arms and faith as shields. They were not the lot of his Eldest, damned be the old spider.

They were to fall, They were to be slaughtered. Even if he unleashed everything he had they would each die on this mountain, this temple their tomb.

He would shed a tear for each as they fell… again. He felt warm escaping his paw as the sizzling stone underneath told him he punctured skin. Retracting his nails back he didn’t bother to look down and check. With any luck he would not have to worry about it soon.

He should weep for them now really, what chance did his congregation have?

None held chaos in their heart like his youngest’s lot. Where they would fight like beasts. Claw and teeth bared when the blade failed. No their hearts were pure, as still in life as in death soon coming closer and closer to them.

None were as fit as his sister’s lot. Where each boasted muscle and bone aplenty. Their armor is as heavy as their gut. No, his lot was lean. They took only what they could and should, left the rest for all. shared what they didn’t have.

None were as skilled with the blade as his first brother. The damnable coward he was, yet he held skill unmatched in blade which he shared with his lot. His lot were simple farmers for oblivion’s sake. None ever held a blade larger than a knife. Perhaps a scythe and non wielding them like he himself had, not to take life at least.

None were warriors like the old spider’s lot. Each of them is a veteran of a dozen conflicts, countless victories under their belt with a thirst for blood that wishes to spill the crimson liquid no matter the cost. His lot had never made another join his realm.

No, it was certain. His lot would give their last breath here. Even if he surrendered, they would all die. It was as certain as the coming of the drums from the bottom of the mountain.

Not all drums were from the bottom however, as there was one here coming from behind his door.

Door creaked, the tall wood moving slightly to let in a wolf most familiar ‘’So… You still won't fight huh?’’

Silence followed his emotionless voice, who carried with it an unease he couldn’t begin to describe.

He held no sneer as he spoke, just stillness ‘’A lamb was born an hour ago to a young couple. They won’t name her, no reason to bother they said.’’ With that he left, with the memory feeling like it was nothing but a dream.

He didn’t even bother with the door, which as annoying as it was still brought him a momentary sense of normalcy. Melvin, as little time as he had left on this earth would not change even in the end. It too was a certainty after all, as certain as the coming spring after this winter.

He held no contempt for him nor any of his followers. Each of them were perfect, and even if they were to die he would make sure of the fact they knew they were worth all of his suffering.

Now he had to make sure their newest member knew this too. It was like a blur, he left his chambers. All eyes following their lord, he didn’t shrink away from their gaze. They had to see him tall.

One after the other, his legs moved. Making his way towards the infirmary he saw a thousand stories unfold in front of him. There was a family of rats, their two youngest crying for their parents as the old she rat with a rust cowered axe assured them they will see each other again. Their hollow promise made him nauseous. She was no fool nor delusional, just a liar as it seemed.

The other corner held a fox, one of his clerics who spoke of divine retribution to their enemies and their assured victory in the upcoming battle against evil. A scoff threatened to escape him, the only assurance his wretches held was one of the end. That this war and battle when it was over carried with it a promised passage to the right side.

There was the odd gathering of a crow with a turtle and a snake. Each playing a game in spite of their incoming doom. Almost funny, alas also sad. He wondered what they had to bet with at this point? What did his lot even have? What did their God offer them in this moment other than suffering and eventual end of this short lives?

Each part of his temple held a different tale, each of them with their own heroes. Heroes that would fall, to be never spoken of again. Other than by him that is. Only when he would weep for them in remembrance.

Finally after each agonizing step he had to endure in this torment, he saw it. Two sheep that cradled a cotton wrapped bundle of life. So small, so utterly small against his near titanic size that easily dwarfed them all who were mortal. They didn’t look upon him, yet they did not weep. They simply looked at their daughter, utterly enthralled by something so meek yet meant the whole world and then some.

His voice was raw, grating against his own ears like rust being cleaned off a blade ‘’You should name her’’ A suggestion from a lord? When was it ever?

The two now looked at him, their child fussing over their lack of attention. It was the father ‘’my L-lord…’’ He looked away in shame ‘’Sh- she…’’ sigh ‘’she won’t need it sire’’ voice so broken.

His voice like steel ‘’You must name her’’ No mere suggestion after all.

This time the mother spoke, her voice like iron ‘’We shall my lord.’’ looking back at her young one now happier that she got the attention back ‘’We will.’’

Wool as bright and white as the clouds of the coming spring. She would have loved it. Alas the only brilliant white she shall see will be the mist of his realm. Oh what ill hath this soul committed fate? What could she have done here, to deserve life so terribly short and ended so soon?

Hearing all the commotion, Melvin made his way to him. Slightly better armed attendance not noticing his absence as they poured their heart into tactic. His eyes heavy with bags underneath to match. His muzzle parted slightly into what counts as a smile for him ‘’Thou art a cruel one Lord’’

He nodded ‘’Cruelest of them all’’

***

Drums

Drums! Bang Bang Bang, Step Step Step

March

There were no archers to rain arrows as they marched. There was no gate to stop them. They entered as if they were invited guests.

Their armored sabatons clanking against the stone, mud dirtying the clean marble. Ash blacking the tapestry. Their shouts drowning out the prayer spoken by the ‘guilty’ like whisper.

They were led by the four, one leaving leaves in his wake. His steps without rhythm, he looked conflicted. happy or sad, one couldn’t tell. The other one was skittish, he looked all around, his steps careful. Yet he seemed as ashamed as they were scared. There was one with anger boiling forth, her axe fitting nicely in their grasp. Yet her hands shook ever so slightly. Then there was the spider. They were but stone, or alas the executioner's blade hanging above. So still yet with a terrible promise of action.

Each army bore the symbols of their Lord and the flag of the Old Faith, bound together cloth stronger than any chain. Each still in the stale air of the temple, yet they stayed as a symbol that tied them for better or worse. They bore armor and weapons, steel glistening with the light of the candles all around them. Some looked happy to be there, their smiles like that of monsters. Some looked impassive, like they had been disappointed by the lack of battle. Then there was the rare look of shame, ones with saddened familiar eyes.

They stood in front of him. A unified front of four armies against his rabble of peasants and wretches he would die for. They stood behind him, as if he could protect them. Each grasping their blade or tool as their lives depended on it. Their prayers and whines bleed together into a quiet cacophony. He felt them, each of their eyes. Pleading, begging… They needed him.

It was their eldest ‘’Narinder, it has been awhile has it not?’’ their mandibles clicking with each careful word.

His eyes never left them even as his heart felt like a storm in his chest. He had so much to say, to curse. Yet that could wait. In all of this nightmare there was one thing he had to know before he would die in the name of his people. ‘’Answer me, oh eldest. One that saw the world before me and cleansed so many. Why seek the end of my lot, sibling?’’ There, the burning question.

Their sigh, like a whisper ‘’I seeketh no harm Narinder, only to contain and protect thee even from thee.’’

Hollow words, spoken too often with no love to back them. A charade that neither believed he thought.

A step forward ‘’Now Narinder, I urge you to-’’

‘’I trusted you’’ His eyes stung almost as he spoke, yet steel behind his conviction forced him to continue ‘’I believed those words once before your atrocity.’’ His heart ablaze ‘’No more’’

There was silence now, not even the prayers of the pitiful behind him.

She spoke, after being content to wait for so long ‘’What are you talking about? What atrocity?’’ Looking at their eldest ‘’What is he talking about Shamura?’’

The soothing voice of the spider was quick ‘’It is nothing you should concern yourself with-’’

There were many things that made him mad at that very moment. Things as meaningless as the fact that the army his siblings brought was actively soiling the home of his lot with earth and soot. To more significant things like the smell of fear that wafted through the air behind him and the fact that he could not ease the dread of his people.

Alas though, he didn’t feel mad at that particular moment. No. He was mad when he left the grounds of the old faith. He was mad when he heard of the preparations for extermination. He was mad when his envoys turned up at his realm. He was mad when he couldn’t find it himself to fight his siblings before they came here, to slaughter each for daring to raise armies against him.

Now

He was enraged

‘’YOU DIDN’T TELL THEM?!’�� His grip tightened on his scythe as the words spilled forth. He felt his once cold hands flare with otherworldly smoke as he felt the call of bloodshed from deep within. Only the words that came from the youngest stopped him from trying to fit the spider’s skull on a pike.

His curious voice felt like soothing water against burn ‘’What didn’t they tell us?’’ Oh my sweet summer child brother, sinless you were weren't you?

First brother’s voice got drowned out, alas he yet heard him ‘’Can we calm down… p-please?’’ He spoke, quiet yet daring to raise his voice for once.

Tired voice of their elder ‘’It was not something any of you had to learn about’’ clicking of mandibles ‘’There is reason for my decision not to reveal-’’

His voice cut against the eldest, voice like thunder ‘’It has been two years, seven months and twenty one days since our eldest massacred my lot on the grounds of treason’’ The feeling of catharsis melded with absolute anguish and yet he spoke. His eyes blurring as he forced the memories forward ‘’Two hundred and thirteen followers of the Old faith, their names etched into the stone of this very temple. Each more faithful than the one prior was slaughtered. Men, women, children and elderly alike. I saw each of them pass into my realm as I could only watch.’’ And here it was, words escaping him like a damn being burst.

The outrage was instant. First was Heket ‘’What?! WHAT?!’’ Her battle axe swayed slightly as he looked between them. Followed by Kallamar ‘’I… why!?’’ He chose to look at the ground instead. The last was the youngest, with a voice barely a whisper ‘’E-everyone? Even t-the children?’’ As their lords spoke in disbelief, from each of the armies came shouting, talking and mostly outrage. Only the spider’s army was quiet, they instead wore faces of shame or simply chose to watch the stone below them.

Amidst the cacophony of noise that now permeated his temple there was only one who seemed like they had any kind of control. Not him obviously, he was still thinking of how to mount the spider’s head on a pike without breaking the skull. Also not Heket, who seemed like she had similar ideas. Which as much as it was a comfort was also rude, as he should hold the privilege instead.

No, it was yet their eldest who had at least an inkling of calm ‘’It was a necessary-’’

Before he could adjust the spider’s leg to head ratio, a scream of indigence came from their loudest sibling ‘’HOW!?’’ Her voice shook the foundation of the temple. They took a step away from the spider, to him ‘’How can it be necessary? A whole loyal cult being slaughtered cannot be justified!’’ The ever just, his Froglet seemed like she was more hesitant on their slaughter than he might have assumed. As she made her way closer to him, standing to his side. Her army became a palisade between the remaining army and his own lot.

Oh cruel fate, Thank thee for making him find her in that pond. To make him slaughter that eejit god that dared to raise a blade against one so young as she was.

Still the ever calm ‘’You do not understand Heket, it was not a choice I made lightly.’’

Grounding out the words ‘’You didn’t look much conflicted when you tried to usher me out of my own lot elder. Before I felt each one’s heart stop’’

Running a claw down their face ‘’I didn’t seek you seeing them, alas if you had listened-’’

Kallamar, almost like coming out of a stupor ‘’How could you, just… why?’’ He stepped away from their sibling, in fear or disgust he could not tell. He didn’t move towards him but it was yet comforting nonetheless to see the army of the spider lessen.

They lightly reached out a claw to him ‘’Kallamar, I assure you I had my reasons.’’ Their hand retracted when they realized their brother would not come closer to them ‘’Do you simply think I would order. No. Partake in such a thing myself if I had no reason?’’ A type of plea entered their voice ‘’Brother prithee, be reasonable’’

For a moment he almost seemed like his first brother might have been swayed back, herded not unlike sheep. Alas his Kallamari proved that he was not an invertebrate after all as he backed away from them fully. Standing slightly away from both of the sides. His troops followed his direction as they chose to stand with their lord, watching to see how things would play out.

Oh fate, had thee deceived me? Were you not so cruel?

Their youngest was truly a creature of brevity ‘’You monster’’ two words, and it was worth more than a thousand.

Then as if a bomb had gone off ‘’I HAD TO!’’ Spider’s calm broke in an instant ‘’None of you have a clue what would have happened if I chose to ignore the truth!’’

Truth? What nonsense was the mad butcher speaking about? Has their eldest finally lost it? The thought was sobering as well as maddening, a rush of empathy shook the rage within his very core. Yet it was but a breeze against the inferno within. Even if he had gone mad without his knowledge it would not save the spider if he got his hands on them.

Alas his brother was quick ‘’What truth? Talk to us.’’ He sounded like he was at the edge of tears ‘’Please Shamura, just make it make sense’’ His words tore at the strings of his heart, his Little leaf’s plight was of his own in that moment. Yet, he doubted their eldest could make sense of this madness. It was all but futile to look for sense where none was to be found.

With a sigh that spoke of one too many nights spent wake ‘’We die in the end.’’

Silence stretched for what felt like hours as all waited, the finality in their voice alone was enough to take his mind out of rage.

They recounted a tale then, one they seem like they too were lost in ‘’We die at the end of this story. It begins with separation, one leaves the flock of five. I know not why, mayhap he grew in pride till it took away all his bonds, spurred by the jubilation of his lot which swelled in size their hearts full of faith.’’ Their eyes met, six against three ‘’Flock weakens and yet his lot strengthens. For a time, it stillness takes hold. However time rarely stays the same, I know not what sparked conflict and yet they descend to war and battle, bloodshed a plenty.’’

A rueful look overtakes ‘’then I saw Ichor fall free to paint marble black. It was dark, so dark it shamed the very night itself. I saw a battle of four against one, he was so strong it took everything and then some to bring him down. I felt agony unlike anything I had ever felt. I saw then white cloth draped over us all, as if we had died and wrapped in funeral cloth before our hearts truly stopped. Oh my dearest brother, the rage I saw, it was overwhelming. I promise you, if I had not had my wits. You would not have seen tomorrow.’’

A look of rage passed their eldest, one which somehow mirrored his own. Alas, his came from action, theirs came from story and devilish omen. What madness did this maniac speak of? What kind of a hellish vision did they delude themselves into believing was a portent? Cautiously still trying to swallow his rage ‘‘What happens next?’’

Their eyes met again, with a mirthless chuckle ‘’Must thee ask more? Do thou wisheth the curse of far sight? Fine then. We slaughtered the Sheep, the rams, the ewes and the lamb’’ A cry resonated from the crowd behind him, one of outrage and fear ‘’I saw all our hands red. I saw Heket devouring each of flesh, I saw Leshy play with the bones, I saw Kallamar crush their horns into powder. Yet nothing was worse than when I saw myself. Speaking with valor as we struck the last one down. I felt pride in such terrible work.’’

His gaze fell to the stone below ‘’But yet, it was not the end. I saw the one who died just a moment yore comeback, to ironically defy death. Her neck still bloodied, she had the eyes of one who saw too much and lost too many. Above her head I saw the crown that would end us all. A mere mortal ewe with the power of Gods given to them by no doubt our maddened brother Narinder, now the one who waits.’’

Steel returned to their eyes as they took in a predatory glint ‘’I could not, would not allow that to happen. I had to take your lot away, I made it fast, I did it clean, I did not enjoy it Nari I promise you upon my birth star. I did it to protect you from what you would have become.’’ Their voice, one of madness in the end.

Pity ‘’Ye old fool, had thee lost thine wits as well as heart, oh cruel tyrant?’’

The spider looked like they were struck, Their heart sliced. Yet he didn’t doubt what happened next hurt them more.

‘’I have no Elder’’ Their youngest spoke with a heart heavy with sorrow, and the temple was quiet.

Spider’s claw clenched as their hand oozed ichor. Their eyes closed in contemplation.

He knew the spider the longest. He was there first after all. He knew how they were when they were mad, as rare as that has been. Their elders, as brash as they were, would never lose control. It was a simple fact to him almost, and it made sense really. If one was to lead an army and call themselves the God of war they had to find the balance between the push and pull, madness and sense.

Yet, as he had once thought their eldest would never harm him. He was yet again proven wrong as he saw a glint he had only seen when they had fought against the enemy.

Their voice colder than the winds outside ‘’Hear I traitors all, I will save you from yourselves even if it will have to hurt’’

There were many things he knew were unquestionable. Like the day would rise tomorrow, there would always be autumn after summer and the fact that their eldest was strong as they were deadly.

He was yet to be proven wrong on this and doubted he would ever be proven otherwise.

Their scream like the howling of the storm as they rise to their full height with their armored Talons stretched to their fullest. There were many reasons why he couldn’t help his lot back then. One was that he didn’t know what was happening. Another was that he thought their eldest could not ill against him, that there was always wisdom to their action. Then there was something he couldn’t admit to him at that time but now could.

He was afraid of them.

And he was right to be afraid of them.

They towered over the four as they rose on their back legs to swipe with their left, almost catching their youngest in his antler. Yet he had a lifetime sparring with the mad spider, he knew they favored a grand and swift opening. His scythe lighting as he hooked his brother back towards him.

Yet the spider was not done, they were persistent as they were tenacious. Their right connected with his arm as they were both sent sprawling against the marble below. He could have twisted before fall, he was a cat for oblivion sake and yet it would expose his brother for what came next.

Jumping high with their hydraulic powered legs, their sibling will skewer him. Yet he would give a chance to his little leaf at survival as it would only penetrate him from this distance.

Yet his bones remained unbroken. His ribs were spared by his Froglet who had swatted away the spider before they could spear him through with their axe. He saw her hands shake as she took labored breaths. Such a hit had to have taken its toll on her, the Spider Lord was no easy target to deflect and yet she succeeded… for now.

Spider Lord rose, their eyes focused on each of them. They never shifted, their expression neutral as their voice ‘’Love needs sacrifice my dearest siblings, it needs action to be preserved and persevered’’

He could retort those words with memories shared with them alas at that moment he was more in favor of a more direct way of argument. One that included his scythe.

His brother untangled himself quickly before shakily standing slightly behind him, he had no experience fighting another God. Not one this strong.

But he did. Taking the left side next to his sibling he nodded to her, which was answered in kind. They hunted before, this would not be any different… Just much harder.

Spider Lord jumped to the left. Yet again choosing the opening themselves, they went in for a swipe which was blocked, but before he could be slashed by the expertly timed right talon his sister went in for an overhead chop which although missed has forced the spider to jump back.

Their many legged body was fast, yet their size was immense as each leg falling to the marble cracked the stone below into dust. Circling around them, looking for an opening they spoke ‘’Sometimes the eldest must make decisions they do not like, that they abhor. Alas they know their duty to their family needs them to be strong’’

Him and his sister were silent, you didn’t speak while fighting. Unless you were holding advantage that is. Yet their brother never had to learn this ‘’We are no family! Family do-’’ he was punished for his ignorance with a pruning against his chin, broken branches and leaves falling to stone like in autumn.

Yet he learned fast also, or perhaps he was planning this to begin with. One couldn’t tell with the Lord of Chaos. His battle hammer struck the Spider Lord on their shoulder, their armored and ready shoulder took the glancing blow like shore stone takes the breeze in the morning.

They jumped again, before he could make sure their youngest hadn’t been hurt they spoke out, their voice devoid of emotion ‘’I chose to spare you all of detail because I knew none of you had what it takes to make a stand against oblivion when the price was your own morals’’

The words of the spider were grating against his psyche. He wondered if he could make such a decision like the spider. It almost made sense in a twisted way, make the sacrifice and save the many. Other than the fact that he would be sacrificing someone else and the sacrifice was based on delusion rather than concrete fact or inevitably. Yet, the visions of their eldest were rarely false.

Why was he thinking of this? Of course those visions were false, he would never hurt his siblings… Other than their eldest now. But what if… his siblings stood with the spider now? would he welcome them to his realm?

Another rule of engagement thought by the Spider, never think when you should be acting. His thoughts blinded him to the reality staring at him from above as their sibling had climbed to the ceiling and was now dropping on them with each of their sharpened legs ready to trim his arms off.

He was not fast, not faster than gravity at least. He could maybe roll, but that would just get his legs sliced open and leave his beloved siblings open for attack. Well, at least he wasn’t mad at them anymore and perhaps Spider might be willing to talk once he was gone, maybe he didn’t need to meet his siblings in his realm.

Yet his story didn’t end, a blinding light stopped the spider and actually threw them away. Before he could think too much on it he saw Kallamar’s outstretched arm and a bandolier full of grenades minus one.

If they survived this, he would find the mortal who brought that baseball game to their lands and thank them personally for getting their brother interested because there was no other way that grenade could connect with their Spider that well any other way.

A frustrated sigh escaped the spider as they effortlessly rose back ‘’Do you know what you fight for? The atrocity that will follow this? One cannot change destiny, even if this ends the simple fact is that it will happen eventually. You can change ‘when will it happen’ but never ‘will it happen’. Our brother will betray you, betray me, betray us and we will all suffer for it.’’

You never talked in battle unless you held the advantage, and even with four against one, it was clear who got to talk. Yet he was a bad student, the spider could attest to that ‘’You are right’’ His voice surprised even him with its firmness.

His siblings for a moment looked at him with scrutiny, judgment passing their eyes. As for The spider lord, he seemed somewhere between sorrow and vindication. ‘’I rarely saw you wrong in vision before Shamura’’ This was fact ‘’Your vision may as well come true one day, one day perhaps I will grow angry with all of you. Perhaps I truly will grow so prideful I will betray all of you.’’ It was hard to admit to all of this, the words feeling like ash in his tongue ‘’One day perhaps I will seek the end’’

He could not see what was to be like his elder. However he knew the whims of Gods and how they changed, nothing was immortal and nor were they. What they stood for; War, Famine, Plague, Chaos and Death were eternal, but them? Not so much. No one ruled forever and one day no matter whether it be through horrid betrayal or otherwise, would see the end of their rule.

‘’Yet, you are also wrong. You may not be able to change the course of the river, yet even a fish can make a ripple in the flow of fate.’’ He had seen it time and time again, their visions were often true and yet they had flaws, things that didn’t match and things that only came to be due to happenstance rather than action ‘’I don’t know what awaits us all in the end of our story, however I know all stories have an end and I know I would much rather face it together with all of you rather than just tear at each other like beasts due to paranoia. Thinking we are powerless to change destiny when together we might have a chance or at least might stand together as a family instated of culling each other to delay the what you think is inevitable'’

He knew all eyes were on him, some in scrutiny and some in anger. He knew what he said was hard to accept, and yet he knew the nature of this world and its whims just as well as his eldest sibling.

His voice was not devoid of anger and yet it still carried with it a gentleness he thought was lost ‘’Please Shamura… I know you wanted to help us.’’ He had to force the next words out of his mouth, the admittance feeling like poison in his tongue ‘’Wanted to help me. Even if you ended up hurting the ones I loved.’’

They yet held an unconvinced stare, so he pulled on a memory he knew they would remember ‘’wasn’t it you that told me we had to fight until the bitter bitter end once where I had lost hope?’’ He took a tentative step towards the them, his arms open yet with scythe on his side ‘’I remember my sibling being there to tell me we would face it together, not alone when it was just the two of us against the heathens and their foul God’’

A chuckle, one of mirth ‘’My little naive Nari, my little hopeful Lord. Trying to face fate with dignity.’’ a small Smile ‘’I never understood how you could be so hopeful? You were so young back then and so was I. Barely shorter than Leshy now, I remember your tears flowing freely’’ Now looking at him with those honest eyes of theirs ‘’I don’t want to fight my little Nari, I never wanted to hurt my little Nari and yet… I cannot accept a future so dark so soon.’’ They closed their eyes ‘’I promise, I will return us all back to the way it used to be, one way or the other’’ When they opened their eyes there was a slight glint to them, one of determination ‘’How about thee siblings? Will I have to take you all down before I can fix this?’’

First was the youngest ‘’No, we stand together as a family. I am not just letting some stupid fate or prophecy dictate our lives. I am the God of Chaos, I refuse this order. We will find our own way’’ His voice carrying resolve heavier than his war hammer.

Second was their sister ‘’Likewise. Hear me you dogged spider, I was very tired trying to find a reason to hate the one who rejected me away from his realm when I was a tadpole. Kudos for trying though, you almost made me into an oathbreaker.’’ her hands were still now, her axe ready.

Last was Kallamar ‘’I am sick of being afraid, I am sick of the paranoia and I am sick of fearing my own brother before he even did anything wrong. I want to live, not hide away. Not from him or our future.’’ He was brave with those words, with conviction he raised his short saber.

A rueful smile ‘’I see’’ That's when Oblivion’s gates were opened fully.

Shamura showed all of them that they weren’t a God of war for nothing.

They jumped but this time the grenade of Kallamar didn’t intercept them in time, they landed in the middle of their now broken formation. They all dispersed to each side trying to avoid the attack with varying success. From each side War God was surrounded, yet it was the four of them who felt like they were surrounded by fear.

They went for Leshy first. They were fast and this time he wasn’t there to take him out of the harm’s way. War God simply yanked the branches on his head before he could understand what happened. Marble was showered with both crimson and green, the very sight stinging his eyes. Before the War God could further harm their youngest Heket answered them with a vertical slash that actually managed to draw the deep crimson out of the spider. A real damage for the first time since the start of the battle.

Yet their short victory was bashed against the pillars alongside of Heket who didn’t see the spider jump and before kicking her with the might of all of their legs at once. The air escaped her lungs as she met the hard stone that crumbled with a part of the ceiling falling on them fast. He tried to scream to warn her, yet his throat felt like it was slashed. He knew there was no way she could get away in time.

Yet she had no need as it was Kallamar who alongside throwing a grenade at the falling debris stabbed at the leg of the War God, who still hadn’t stabilized after their attack. He tried to push in the advantage by using his scepter to bash at their legs but hadn’t realized the stinger which now pierced them in the shoulder. Their scream reverberated against the halls of his temple before they reached his ear. The echoes adding to the horror and dread.

He jumped, his legs carrying right behind them. With all the might he could summon to his side he swung the blunt side of the scythe to War God’s head. The War God saw the attack a mile away and dogged under the weapon before rising once again. His attack had failed… or so they thought before he yanked the War God Towards him with the inner side of the scythe. With his left hand, he uppercutted the spider, his slightly bony fist connecting with their jaw. Throwing them into the air slightly before their youngest swatted them at the head with a perfect serve that saw them tumbling away from them some distance.

They were barely hanging on, each of them holding each other as well as hanging onto each other as they once again took their battle stance. The spider got up, they were wounded and yet they were better off than each of them. Their carapace holding them together as they laughed. Their laughter both terrible and broken.

There was madness in their voice as the words spilled forward ‘’YOU CANNOT CHANGE FATE!’’ wildly motioning around them, all denizens of the temple looking at the mighty with fear ‘’You cannot change what is going to happen no matter how much you stand together, I will have to watch all of you die! I will have to fight you again! I will have to accept oblivion, the end!’’ Their claws wide open, ready to strike once again as if they were not hurt at all.

Then he did the stupidest thing he could manage to do at that moment. Something so bereft of sense he would beat himself to Oblivion and back for just thinking about it any other time.

He dropped his scythe.

The great weapon crashing against the ground. Turning the stone into dust before the echoes even reached his own ears.

Then he did something even stupider. He walked towards his eldest and he simply embraced them. Their talons sinking into his stomach, each of their fingers digging deeper than the other. As they continued to push their hands further into his organs, so did he embrace them harder…

Agony, pure agony beyond anything he felt before. Not even when Shamura had to save him from the heathen God who had stabbed into his lung had he felt pain so pure. It threatened to take away all he knew and each second their hands gripped harder he felt another bout of fresh air of oblivion. Yet he held on.

Until he felt the scalding wetness of the tears now falling against his back. It took him a moment to push away the pain before he could speak ‘’Sha Sha, you know time changes and so do we’’ His voice but a whisper ‘’I know the end hurts, I am its lord you know. Yet, I will cherish all the time I had with you and our family, good and bad until our rule ends. I will accept the end of this story alongside of you.’’

He felt the talons loosen, before feeling their arms wrap around him. Their voice like glass, so fragile ‘’Oh Nari, I hurt all of you so so much.’’ a sob and a whimper ‘’You won’t forgive me for I have sinned will thee?’’ their eyes wet, salted with desperation.

He pulled back slightly, letting them go slightly. Looking into their eyes with a smile ‘’Nay, I will forgive thee for I love thee, with sin or not’’ It would perhaps take time, yet he knew he could do it eventually. He only had one elder sibling and one family after all.

Their embrace was joined by Leshy, he wordlessly hugged them both. He was silent, yet his tears spoke for him.

Then came Kallamar, his long tentacles wrapping around the three easily ‘’I am still afraid of the future, but now I guess at least we will see what happens together s-so I guess it is better’’ He gave them a smile, their teeth glistening kindly.

Their sister grumbled as she lowered herself enough to give them all a hug ‘’I am angry, I am going to continue to be angry. Mostly because you didn’t talk to us and decided to act on your own’’ A softness entered their voice ‘’But I will probably forgive you at some point.’’

They stayed like that for a long time, none willing to let go even as they bled. From the corner of his eye he could see their people now all looking at them with admiration, their faith seemingly restored. Some wept, some smiled and laughed. Some hugged, their weapons cast away, each sect now embracing each other as fellow brethren of the faith. Each holding their loved ones and siblings close. The past strife was forgotten in that moment. It would yet take a while before all grievances were washed away and yet, in his now warm heart he knew it would come to be eventually. As they too hoped for a better future, ready to take the first step together as family he knew they had a chance.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #narinder #shamura #kallamar #leshy #heket #ao3 link #ao3 #fanfic #my writing #my wrtitng

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